Prince of a Thousand Enemies
by Amynion
Summary: "They know." And with those two words the world came crashing down.
1. Chapter 1

**Prince of a Thousand Enemies**

"All the world will be your enemy, Prince of a Thousand Enemies. And when they catch you, they will kill you... But first they must catch you."

~ Richard Adams, "Watership Down"

**Chapter One**

_Welcome to your life  
>There's no turning back<br>Even while we sleep  
>We will find you<em>

"They know."

And with those two words the world came crashing down.

Aramis had been roused from sleep by a frantic knocking at his door. The young musketeer blearily threw it open and Athos pushed his way in, those terrible words on his lips. Everything seemed to slow down while Athos rushed about him. Aramis was at the eye of a storm. All thought, all breath, came slowly._ They knew… they were coming… Anne? What of Anne? _

In contrast Athos rushed about the room, talking without pause, shoving things into bags and throwing clothes at Aramis. Finally he picked up Aramis' weapons and thrust them into the young musketeer's hands. That seemed to snap him back into the world.

"... the Red Guard are coming to arrest you. We have to leave now, I've got your horse ready…" Athos went to the door.

Aramis followed him without thought, and then suddenly he darted back inside.

"Aramis!" Athos hissed. "We have no time!"

But he didn't need time. He dashed to his bedside table and grabbed a small golden cross.

They hurriedly made their way through the streets trying not to draw attention. A contingent of red guards ran past and the two of them ducked into a shadowed doorway. When it was clear, they resumed their flight. Suddenly shouts rose from down the street... the musketeers increased their pace.

Aramis was being led blindly by Athos, he trusted his friend entirely. His own thoughts were running around in circles, the ground had suddenly been pulled out from beneath the young musketeer. He struggled to take it all in… They knew… they would kill him… would they kill Anne? Had to run… had to get away… At least Athos seemed to be in control, at least he seemed to have a plan, as harried as it was…

They mounted their horses and rode to the outskirts of Paris. Aramis' heart fell as they approached two familiar men upon their own horses standing beneath a tree.

"They were safe! Why did you involve them?!" Aramis shouted.

"To save your neck you fool!" Athos sounded exhausted and exasperated.

Porthos and d'Artagnan's faces were grim. There was no friendly greeting, just anxious and accusing expressions. Tension ran between them as a wire that Aramis wished he could cut... Still frantic Athos searched through the bags he packed and pulled out Aramis' hat and blue sash. Instead of giving them to Aramis he handed them to d'Artagnan, much to their owner's confusion. The young lad dismounted and put them on.

"Get off your horse Aramis." Athos all but ordered.

"Why? What are you…" Aramis trailed off as a distant alarm bell started to ring.

"It may not be enough, but d'Artagnan will try to draw them away. He might pass for you in the dark of night."

Aramis got down from his horse and trailed a hand down her neck. He would miss her. But there was no time to linger on a goodbye.

d'Artagnan stepped forwards and offered the reins of his horse to Aramis. "Don't worry, I'll look after her." He clapped a hand to Aramis' shoulder.

With their horses swapped over the two men mounted. A moment of silence passed between them all. This felt like the end of an era and the beginning of something terrible… Nothing would be the same again.

"Athos…" d'Artagnan gasped and drew their attention to a gathering of torches in the distance.

"Good luck, stay safe." Athos said, there was no time to say anything more.

Aramis would have apologised, he would have tried to explain, there was so much that needed to be said… but there was no time. d'Artagnan looked at them each in turn and nodded from beneath Aramis' hat. Then he turned the black mare about and dashed off into the night. Aramis' heart turned cold… he had the feeling he would not be seeing either of them again.

"We need to go." Athos urged his horse in the opposite direction.

Porthos had not said a word. He just gave Aramis a dark look before following.

**~oOo~**

They rode as fast as they could through the countryside. Even though it was night the three musketeers kept away from the outlying villages. They couldn't risk being seen flying from Paris. Aramis didn't know where they were going, nobody had said anything, he just went with it, swept along in a current beyond his control. When morning light began to creep along the horizon they headed into a nearby wood and sought sanctuary within the trees. Athos finally deemed it safe enough to stop, both men and horses were exhausted and in need of rest.

Aramis saw to the horses while Porthos and Athos lit a fire and set about making something to eat. The silence between them seemed a chasm, one that Aramis was eager to breach… he just didn't know how. He went about un-tacking slowly, hoping the snowstorm of his thoughts would settle into something that made sense. They didn't. Finally he set down his saddle and went to join the others.

The morning birdsong gave the scene a strange sense of peace it didn't deserve. Aramis could detect anger brimming just beneath the surface… Athos wordlessly thrust a plate into his hands. The young musketeer picked at it, he couldn't face eating though he knew he needed to. Instead he reached inside his pocket and took out the little golden cross, looking down at it on his palm thoughtfully. If he had been forced to run, what would they do to Anne? Surely they couldn't put the queen to death. What of his child? There were only a few months to go…

"Don't you dare put that on." Porthos' angry voice broke into his thoughts.

Aramis looked up in confusion.

"And don't you give me that look either. I curse the day she gave you that thing."

"Porthos…" Aramis tried to interrupt, but like a dam that had burst Porthos' words kept flowing.

"Look at yourself Aramis! Look at us here! This is all your doing! Because_ you_ couldn't control yourself we are _all_ going to suffer."

"I didn't ask you to get involved!" The young musketeer shouted.

"No. _I_ did." Athos finally spoke up. "We couldn't see you hang, we had to do something…"

"The _queen_ Aramis! For God's sake! What were you thinking?!" Porthos shot to his feet and walked away a few paces before turning back. "I would give my life for you, and the bond that holds us all as brothers is the reason I am here, but I cannot believe the _stupidity_… the_ thoughtlessness_… I could strike you Aramis."

Aramis got to his feet and threw his arms out. "By all means do if it would help."

The blow came from nowhere. Aramis hadn't really expected Porthos to take up on the offer, and he thought Athos would have stepped in if he did. But Aramis found himself laid out in the grass, his vision sparking and jaw aching, before another word could be said.

As the world coalesced around him Aramis could perceive Athos and Porthos standing over him.

Athos knelt down. "We are on the run now, we are hunted men... especially you. It was a choice between this or death. Surely you must have realised it could come to this when you first put your hands on her? This is your life now… there is no turning back."

Porthos extended a hand and spoke grimly. "Welcome to your new life, Aramis."

**~oOo~**

* * *

><p><strong>Note<strong>: Quote is from "Everybody Wants to Rule the World" (Lorde's version, heh).


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two **

They passed their days riding furiously through the countryside, avoiding people and sleeping beneath the trees. It was a harried existence that left all three feeling worn and thin. Eventually the time came when they ran out of food and entering a village became unavoidable…

Aramis had wanted to go, he felt responsible for their current plight - and rightly so. But Porthos was wary of them being recognised. Still, Athos felt they had come far enough. Paris was many miles behind them and there would be nobody familiar about, nor had they anything about them that identified them as musketeers. He thought it safer for them to stick together.

So the three musketeers warily approached the nearest village. Aramis felt quite paranoid, he kept expecting passers by to unsheath their swords at him. Instead they smiled and nodded, often giving a brief comment on the beautiful day they were having. Indeed it was gloriously sunny, but Aramis still felt like ice ran through his veins… Athos became bold enough to ask for directions to the inn. On finding it they entrusted their horses to the stable boy and went inside. Athos and Aramis found the darkest corner to sit in while Porthos went to order.

"Could we not stop here for the night?" Aramis asked, appreciating sitting down in a proper chair for the first time in who knows how long.

"No, we have to keep moving." Athos glared.

"Just one night in a bed, that's all I ask."

"You don't deserve a night in bed." Athos spoke wryly.

"But you do, Porthos too." Aramis pointed out.

Athos sighed and turned over his shoulder to shout at Porthos. "Po… er… Philippe! Ask for three rooms."

Thankfully Porthos turned around and nodded, answering to the false name Athos had quickly given him.

Over dinner they decided to stock up on supplies before returning to their rooms. Porthos wasn't at all happy about stopping for the night, but even he was won over by the thought of a soft bed. After a good meal all three were in better spirits. They approached the local store returning all smiles and greetings from the villagers. They were clearly used to people passing through, and the village seemed prosperous for it. Some villages were insular and unwelcoming, strangers and traders weren't likely to stop long and spend coin in such places.

Athos detailed their supplies to the shop owner, a friendly rotund gentleman of advanced years, while Aramis and Porthos nonchalantly looked around.

"That's quite a bit you're after, journeying far are you?"

"We're likely to be on the road for some time. My brothers and I are visiting distant relations."

"Your brothers eh?" The shopkeeper raised an eyebrow and looked at Porthos.

"Yes, my brother and my… adopted brother."

"Ah, I see your parents were good folk taking in an unfortunate."

Porthos glared and Aramis gave him a dig in the ribs with an elbow.

"Indeed, in fact it's them we're travelling to see. They're getting older now and can't manage to the journey to Paris." Too late Athos realised his mistake. He should not have mentioned Paris.

"You're from Paris then? I'm sure you're finding it a lot quieter out in these parts."

"Yes, I must say it is more… peaceful."

"We get news from Paris quite often, it does sound like quite a busy place! Dangerous too, I hear there have been assassination attempts, gunpowder plots and goodness knows what else. It's a miracle the king and queen are still alive… why I even hear their own musketeers are not to be trusted. The other day a man came through with a notice about a rogue musketeer. Fancy that!"

"Fancy that indeed…" Athos tried not to react. Aramis and Porthos seemed to freeze behind him. "Out of interest, do you have that notice? Might I take a look?"

"No, I'm afraid it got handed round the village, goodness knows where it is now."

"Can you remember what it said?"

"Hmm… said he was wanted for treason, gave a bit of a description. Oh and it said there might be two others riding with him. I can't quite remember his name, Arathos maybe… One of them might have been Portamis. Why? Do you reckon you've seen him?"

"Oh no, I just wanted to know what to look out for in case I came across him on the road. Thank you, have a good day now." Athos dropped a few coins on the counter and they hurriedly took the supplies and got out.

The minute the door closed behind them Athos hissed under his breath. "We need to leave _now._"

They headed for their horses.

So much for a good night's sleep in a soft bed…

**~oOo~**

They rode on, sleeping under the trees when the weather was good, and taking shelter in disused barns and buildings when it was not. After their encounter in the village the world seemed to close about them. Aramis imagined enemies at every corner and sleep was hard to come by. When he eventually did manage to close his eyes Aramis would often wake suddenly and sit bolt upright with a sharp intake of breath. On having his nightmare fade away the young musketeer would lie back and focus on the small pinpoints of blue sky just glimpsed between the dancing leaves. There was a short moment of numbness on waking when he could simply savour the breeze... His mind wandered those places amid the places where it was safe, but those seconds of being suspended between unconsciousness and consciousness were over too quickly. Cold, hard, reality slammed into his thoughts. He remembered where he was, what he had done, and why he had been chased from sleep so suddenly...

It was late when the rain started pouring down. The three men were already wet through when they found an old musty barn to hide in. When the horses were free of their saddles they shook vigorously making Aramis jump. The musketeers stripped their own clothes down and left them to dry before settling down in a pile of old straw to sleep. Aramis tossed and turned, the straw was brittle and uncomfortable, but even if he were on a feather bed he was sure sleep would not come. Now he knew how Marsac felt living life on the run… His thoughts were occupied with Anne and their child. The time for the baby to be born was near. That's if they were still alive… The three musketeers had avoided people as best they could and so they had no news of Paris. It weighed on Aramis, perhaps more than his own eked out existence.

Aramis turned over to find Athos sitting up. The musketeer gave a faint half smile to Aramis. "Can't sleep?"

"No…" Aramis sat up and rubbed his tired eyes. He would dearly like to sleep, but he couldn't.

Athos rose and went to their saddle bags, sharing out their last bits of food.

Aramis held a hand up when offered his share. "I'm not hungry. Let Porthos have mine."

Somehow Porthos had managed to fall asleep, but on waking he would surely be hungry. Aramis quite envied his ability to drop off and eat. Everything turned to ash in the young musketeer's mouth.

"You need to eat." Athos tried again but Aramis still refused.

Athos sighed. "Let me put this another way - you need to eat because we might not be eating again for a while."

"What do you mean?" Aramis frowned.

"We've spent our last coins, these are our last rations…"

The young musketeer swallowed the lump in his throat. "What do we do?"

"Hunt… work for our keep… I'd rather avoid villages if we can, but maybe some of the outlying farms need a hand and have no time for Parisian gossip." Athos sounded so tired, and once again guilt washed over Aramis.

"You should leave me and go back to Paris… Maybe you'll be pardoned."

"And maybe we'll be hung. I'd rather not take the risk... besides, we can't leave you out here alone, you'd be hopeless."

"I'd find a way somehow…" Aramis sounded as if he believed his words as much as Athos did.

"I'd give you a day before falling into some sort of trouble, and that's being generous." Athos gave him pointed look. "Things will look better in the morning. There's a farm over the next valley, I'll go and see if there's work for us. Try to get some sleep for now."

The next morning Porthos tried to stop Athos going to the farm. He thought it too dangerous. He certainly wouldn't let Athos go alone… Athos thought all of them going might seem a little intimidating, and three men resembling three wanted musketeers was asking for trouble. In the end he agreed to let Porthos follow at a distance. They returned looking despondent, but at least they returned… There was no work to be had at the farm. Athos said the man probably took him for a criminal, he gave a critical eye to the musketeer and Athos' appearance was a little dishevelled to say the least.

The three musketeers tried another farm, and there it was made explicit. The owner trained a gun on them and took the musketeers for thieves. Luckily Porthos managed to kill a rabbit, so they ate that night. But the three men went hungry the next two days. More bad luck hit when Porthos' horse went lame. He dismounted and walked alongside, slowing them all down.

"Let's ask at this next farm. Even if there's no work we can't force poor Fleur on like this." Aramis waved a hand at the struggling mare. "They might have another horse we can take."

Aramis hadn't meant they should steal the horse - no matter how desperate they had become the three musketeers had not stooped to stealing yet - but with no means to pay he wasn't sure how else to acquire a horse.

"Alright… we're not getting very far like this." Athos conceded the point.

They looked a sorry sight approaching the farm. Three tired men, dishevelled and dirt stained, with three tired horses, one near enough limping… There was an elderly man working at the front of the farm house. Aramis held up a hand in greeting, and painted a big smile on his face, hoping to reassure him they meant no harm.

"Monsieur, my friends and I have travelled far and unfortunately one of our horses has turned up lame. Could we trouble you for some shelter while we see to her leg? In fact, if you have work that needs doing we will be happy to work for our keep or a little coin."

The elderly man cast a wary eye over them and then broke out into a smile. "As it happens I am in need of help. The weather is turning and I have crops that need to be picked… I've lost my usual hands, and though I have sent word for my son to come home he has not arrived nor answered."

"We will be happy to help, Monsieur...?"

"Jacques, call me Jacques." He extended a hand for Aramis to shake. "You can put your horses in the stables around back. I have no room in the house for you all to sleep, but the barn is clean and dry."

"That will do, many thanks Jacques. I am Alex and these are my good friends Arnaud and Philippe." Aramis turned to point at Athos and Porthos.

"Good, good… once you have seen to your horses please come inside, my wife is about to make dinner and I can acquaint you with the job at hand."

When the farmer had turned his back and shuffled inside the three musketeers hurried around to the stables, spurred on by the thought of a decent meal. Porthos gave his mare's leg a look over and was dismayed to find her fetlock swollen. Horse lameness could be a terrible thing to resolve… A quick look round revealed there were no other horses in the stables, save for a large cob that looked more suited to pulling carts than galloping miles. This could be a problem…

Back inside the scene was a homely one, Jacques set the table while his wife Aimee prepared dinner for them all. There was much pleasant discussion between mouthfuls, Jacques explained which fields and crops he wanted harvesting and then talk turned to Porthos' horse. The farmer had been a keen rider in his younger days and he held an interest in everything equine. The large stables had once been full of horses, but old age had forced him out of the saddle. Jacques told them he could easily make a poultice that should help the poor mare. He kept on talking, telling them of his youth, how he met Aimee… everything and nothing. There was no danger of the three musketeers revealing anything - they could hardly get a word in edgeways. Eventually the hour grew late and they retired to the barn… it would be an early start the next morning.

Their days passed quickly out in the fields. Though Aramis found the work monotonous he was not going to complain at receiving regular meals and a safe place to sleep. This seemed like paradise compared to life on the run. He could almost imagine stopping here and creating a new life with their assumed names…

"Alex. Wake up… _Alex._" Porthos threw a sack at Aramis and he shot up.

For some reason Porthos found his assumed name quite amusing and had taken to using it even when they were alone.

"We can finish that field if you get a move on."

Aramis yawned. "Since when did you become such a keen farmer?"

"Since I became Phillippe. Now get up."

The young musketeer scrubbed a hand over his face. "Is your horse any better?"

"The poultice seems to be working, I'll give her a walk out later, see how she is."

There was a sudden clatter of hooves on the path outside and Athos burst into the barn, shutting the door closed behind him. "Hush! There's a rider out there..."

They all rushed to the door and peered through the crack to see a well dressed man dismount a very fine horse. The three men held their breath, wondering who on earth it could be...

That was revealed soon enough as Jacques came out of the house as fast as he could to embrace the stranger.

"His son… it must be his son." Porthos breathed a sigh of relief.

"Alright, let's carry on as normal. Get out to the field, do our work…" Athos straightened and opened the door.

As they passed by Jacques waved them over. "This is my son - Henri! He has arrived at last!"

"Pleased to meet you." Aramis offered a hand. "My name is Alex and these fine men behind me are Arnaud and Phillippe."

Henri just looked at Aramis' quite filthy hand. The young musketeer took it back and wiped it on his trousers suddenly feeling self conscious. The newcomer looked over each man in turn and addressed his father.

"Well I'm glad you've found some new farm hands, to be honest I wasn't looking forward to working the fields again. It has been a long time…" Henri spoke somewhat disdainfully.

"He's done very well for himself in Paris he has! Merchant of the finest goods, he serves all the well to do ladies and gentlemen at court. To think he came from a little farm out here!" Jacques spoke enthusiastically of his son, as parents are wont to do, while ignoring his child's impoliteness…

The two of them turned to go inside leaving the three musketeers frozen to the spot.

"Did he say Paris?" Aramis paled visibly.

"We're going to have to be careful around him. But like I said before - let's carry on as normal." Athos gave them both a shove.

Dinner that night was a subdued affair. Jacques tried talking away as he usually did, but the atmosphere was fouled somewhat by Henri's dark glances.

"So Henri, have you found a wife yet?" Jacques asked eagerly.

Henri just cast his eyes over Aramis and ignored the question. "Where did you say you were from?"

"We didn't." Aramis replied tightly.

"Then allow me to ask - where are you from?" Henri spoke in a careful cultured way, as if had learnt to conceal a displeasing lower born accent.

"Gascony." Aramis said the first thing that came to mind that wasn't Paris.

"And yet you don't have the look of a Gascon.".

"We settled there when I was young, I consider it home."

"Have you spent much time in Paris?" Henri's questions were getting to be a little probing…

"Not in recent years, a few visits when I was small…" Aramis almost felt he was being interrogated.

"Strange… you look familiar."

"I have never seen you before Monsieur." Aramis said a little eagerly. "But since you have come from Paris, perhaps you would tell us some news? We don't get to hear much out here… How fares the queen?"

Aramis felt a sharp pain in his leg as Athos booted him under the table.

"She is well and has retired to Saint-Germain-en-Laye, we all eagerly await the birth of our new prince - God willing the child will be a boy."

Aramis near enough collapsed with relief. _They were alive_.

It seemed his sudden silence did not go unnoticed.

"Alex, you don't look at all well. Why don't you go and lie down?" Athos was half covering for him and half trying to get rid of him.

"Yes… yes, I think I will. If you would excuse me. Good night my friends." Aramis stood and took his leave. He wanted to be alone with his joy and relief, he couldn't sit there keeping up that wretched facade…

As he left Henri's voice filtered through the door. "... in other news from Paris - there is a rogue musketeer escaping justice. What a terrible thing for a _musketeer_ to turn traitor of all people. I trust you gentlemen have seen nothing of him?"

An icy hand seemed to grip Aramis' heart.

Later on Athos and Porthos returned to the barn. Porthos had a terrible scowl on his face. "We should go, right now, he suspects us. I can tell."

"Running away in the night would just look suspicious… If we carry on as normal Henri will probably return to Paris and forget about us."

"You heard him Athos, he was asking questions, trying to catch us out. He's not the sort to let things go, I know men like him… they enjoy holding power over others." Porthos stalked up and down the barn restlessly.

"Then we'll wait until morning, make our excuses to Jacques and leave."

"I think that's a mistake. Aramis, what do you say?"

Aramis thought a moment before answering. "I agree with Athos. Running away now without a word would condemn us for sure."

"Then on your heads be it." Porthos huffed and settled down in the straw.

**~oOo~**

The next day Athos shook Aramis awake. "Make ready to leave, I'm just going to help Porthos with Fleur. She hasn't taken to confinement well and keeps kicking out at him…"

Aramis rolled out of the straw with a yawn and started packing away what little things they had. It wasn't long before he heard the barn door open again.

"Tamed the wild beast already have you?" He said over his shoulder with a hint of amusement.

The only answer was the click of a gun.

Aramis whipped around to find himself staring down the wrong end of a pistol. It was held firmly in hand by Henri who stood in the doorway with a cruel smirk and a length of rope.

"On your knees, and put your hands behind your back."

"What are you doing? Have you gone mad?!" Aramis shouted.

"Oh don't play the innocent with me. I know who you are, Aramis. If you weren't already the talk of Paris, I've seen you before. Of course your eyes passed right over me, a simple merchant, your attention was always taken by the ladies… and how the ladies loved to talk when they perused my wares. I know your sort - a charmer, a snake - well you can't wind your way out of this one."

"You have me mistaken, I'm simply working your father's farm in return for food and shelter. I mean no harm…" Aramis held his hands up, trying to calm the situation.

"No harm? You're a wanted criminal! Do you really think I would leave you here with my father? Besides, there's a big reward on your head. I'll be rich_ and_ famous when I bring you in… I've alerted the local guardsmen, they'll be here soon. There's no escape Aramis - get on your knees." Henri shook the pistol in a threatening fashion.

Aramis growled and dropped down to the ground. He might be caught here but Athos and Porthos were still free… He turned to bare his hands, ready for them to be bound.

"That's it, good lad…" Henri said with a smirk. There was a pause and then a sudden strangled yell.

Aramis looked over his shoulder to find Porthos with his arm around Henri's neck. The choking man flailed up with the pistol and despite Porthos' attempt at grabbing the gun, it went off.

With a wide eyed gasp Aramis threw himself to one side.

"Aramis!" Porthos bellowed.

It was too late… he felt the shot graze the flesh of his arm. Though if he had been any later it would have been embedded in his chest. The young musketeer felt warm blood begin to spill down his arm and soak his shirt.

"I'm fine… I'm okay. Let's go." Aramis gasped. "Guards are on their way, we have to leave."

Porthos dropped Henri to the ground, unconscious, and went to help Aramis up.

Just as they dashed out of the barn Jacques came running over, doubtlessly alerted by the gunshot.

"My boy! My son!" He cried out at seeing Henri's still form in the doorway.

"I'm sorry Jacques, I'm sorry…" Aramis started, but Porthos pushed him in the direction of the stables and went to the old man.

"He's fine, he's just out cold. Your son was the one doing the shooting. When he wakes up he's going to tell you some crazy things about us, but just be assured we came here peacefully. We didn't want to bring any of this to your door. You were good to us Jacques, thank you."

"Porthos!" Athos came riding out holding the reins of Henri's horse. Aramis was close behind.

No doubt Porthos was loath to leave Fleur, but Henri's horse would be faster. He mounted and they took to the road. In the distance a dust cloud told of approaching riders. They were on the run again, and this time their whereabouts was known.


	3. Chapter 3

**Note**: I am so excited! Season two tomorrow! In fact, I am so excited I'm going to post another chapter. Here you go :D

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Three<strong>

"I told you we should have left!" Porthos roared.

The three of them were hiding in a wooded area having ridden hard across all terrain to lose the guardsmen. Aramis' shirt sleeve was saturated with blood so they stopped as soon as it was safe to do so. As luck would have it they came across a small stream giving Athos a chance to clean up the young musketeer.

"Thank you Porthos, now if only we could go back in time and do it your way. What's done is done, we just have to deal with it." Athos wiped away the welling blood and Aramis hissed.

"How are you brushing this off so easily? They know who we are and where we are. We're going to be hunted down now!"

"We probably would have been anyway! Like you said - Henri suspected us. What would you have me do? Kill the man to keep us safe?" Athos looked up with accusing eyes.

Porthos just huffed and turned away.

Athos went back to examining Aramis' arm. "This could do with stitching…"

"It's nothing, just a scratch." Aramis mumbled.

"It's nothing? Have you seen your shirt?" Athos held up what was little more than a bloody rag now.

"... got nothing to sew it with anyway…"

"I'll sort it." Porthos suddenly stalked over to his horse.

"Porthos, where exactly are you going?" Athos asked wryly.

"To sort it." The musketeer sighed and the anger left his voice. "On the road we passed a signpost for a town, it can't be more than a couple of miles away from here. I'll get a kit to sew him up with and be right back."

"How are you going to pay for it? We have no money."

"Desperate times call for desperate measures Athos, unless you'd rather he bleed to death?" Porthos gave a nod at Aramis.

"... 'm not dying…" Aramis muttered tiredly.

"Well you look pale enough. I won't be long." The musketeer mounted and set off between the trees.

"Porthos!" He looked back at Athos' shout. "Just... don't get caught".

A deep laugh echoed through the woods.

Hours passed and the sun went down letting a chill creep into the air. There was still no sign of Porthos.

"He's got himself caught, he shouldn't have been this long…" Athos kept looking through the trees anxiously.

"Have faith…"

"That's easy for you to say. I know what Porthos is like… He probably stopped for a game of cards and started a fight over it. I'll have to go and look for him."

"He'll come back." Aramis picked at the bandage around his arm. It was made of the remnants of his shirt and was turning red like the rest of it. "He wouldn't leave us like this… He wouldn't be so reckless, not now."

The sound of trampled undergrowth proved him right. Porthos emerged with a bag full of supplies. He dropped the sewing kit in Athos' lap without a word.

"Here you go." Porthos dug out a bottle of wine and gave it to Aramis. "I got you a new shirt too, thought you might need one, and there's enough food to last a few days…"

"Porthos… how did you get all of this?" Athos asked somewhat surprised at his bountiful escapade.

"I have my ways... I can avoid being seen if I wish." Seeing Athos' glare Porthos gave a laugh. "What? Did you forget where I came from?"

Athos said nothing more. He set about sewing the gash in Aramis' arm while the young musketeer downed his bottle.

"Oi, leave some for the rest of us." At a glare from Athos Porthos held up his hands. "Kidding… Besides, I can always get some more." The glare intensified. "What have you got against stealing? These are dire circumstances if you hadn't noticed."

Aramis winced as Athos pulled hard on the thread. "Easy…"

"It is… dishonourable." Athos said without looking up.

"Oh, so you think I was dishonourable all those years I spent as a thief?"

"It's not the same."

"Isn't it? Well, you'd better be thanking this dishonourable thief for the fact you're eating tonight."

Aramis gave a sudden gasp as the thread pulled tight. "I would appreciate it if you didn't distract him while he's doing _this_!"

"He's doing great, you'll be fine." Porthos walked by and ruffled Aramis' hair.

The young musketeer rolled his eyes. "This is why I try not to get injured around you two, you both benefit from my exquisite sewing skills and I have to put up with your ham fisted efforts…" He winced as Athos tied off the thread.

"All done. Now Porthos, if you would be kind enough to dish up this fine meal you have _acquired_ for us."

"My pleasure."

**~oOo~**

Stealing was something of a slippery slope… That first act of theft gave way to more. At first it was little things. Porthos would take bits of food and other items they sorely needed, but he soon became bolder. He moved on to clothes and picked up a pair of boots when he wore a hole in his own. The light fingered musketeer even took a whole bridle when his reins snapped.

Athos never gave his approval, instead he turned a blind eye or gave the occasional glare. Often when they set up camp Porthos would excuse himself. He always returned with more items than he left with. Sometimes he returned with news of soldiers on the road or guards roaming the streets, and on those occasions they would hastily break camp to move on. Thanks to Henri it was now known the 'rogue musketeers' were in the area, and the cardinal seemed to set all his dogs loose after them. It was no longer safe to go near villages where strangers would stick out like a sore thumb. So the three musketeers remained in the wilds, or when need arose they would seek shelter on the outskirts of larger towns where individuals could remain anonymous.

It was in one such town Athos and Aramis huddled around a small fire they started outside an abandoned mill. The area seemed to be deserted and all the buildings had gone to rack and ruin. It looked safe enough. Porthos had left to acquire some food. Their supplies had dwindled to nothing and winter was approaching fast... hunting was no longer as profitable as it had been.

Aramis stared at the flames, deep in thought. He wasn't usually so quiet, it caught Athos' attention.

"What troubles you?"

The young musketeer looked up, suddenly drawn from his thoughts, and shook his head. "Nothing… I was just wondering."

"About what?" Athos asked softly.

"Whether I'm a father yet." His eyes quickly dropped back to the fire.

Aramis spoke little of the queen or their child. Her golden cross had remained in his pocket since the day Porthos knocked him to the ground. There was still an undercurrent of resentment between the three men when it came to the subject of the queen, and Aramis felt so terribly guilty for their current predicament. It made life just a little more bearable simply not to talk about them. But Aramis thought about them often. In the quiet moments between running and struggling to live he pictured her face with a delicate smile... he imagined holding the child he would probably never see.

"You may well be. If I had a glass I'd make a toast, but as it is…" Athos raised an empty hand. "To your son or daughter. May they have the good fortune _not_ to take after their father."

Aramis let the ghost of a smile play across his lips. "I wonder what name she has chosen."

"I doubt 'Aramis' will form any part of it."

Suddenly a figure loomed in the darkness and the young musketeer's hand reached for his pistol. He soon relaxed on seeing it was Porthos.

"Put that fire out, you can see it from miles away!" He growled.

"It's cold!" Aramis protested.

"Then you'll just have to get yourselves something warmer to wear won't you?"

Athos raised an eyebrow noting that Porthos was wrapped in a nice warm cloak he didn't have before. "That's not your cloak."

"It is now."

"Porthos… you are becoming too bold." Athos sighed.

"You worry too much. We'll be safe here for a while. I tell you the town guards are an ill disciplined bunch, I found half of them falling about in the tavern. They wouldn't know their arse from their elbow."

Athos gave his friend a pointed look. "Yes, because that's something musketeers would never be found doing - sober as churchmen, every last one."

Porthos barked a laugh and went about sharing his spoils of food. "Drunkards we may be but I'm sure even Aramis knows his arse from his elbow."

"We're not musketeers… not any more." Aramis' sombre voice cut in.

"Speak for yourself. They can kick us out and call us criminals, but I'll always be a musketeer until the day I die."

"Which will be quite soon if you parade about in front of the guards taking anything that's not nailed down." Athos threw a pointed look at Porthos who turned away and seemed momentarily uneasy. At this Athos narrowed his eyes. "What are you not telling me?"

"Nothing Athos… we're safe. Well we'd be safer if you put that fire out like I told you to."

"_Porthos._" His name was said as a warning.

"Alright… I found this on the town noticeboard." He pulled a crumpled piece of parchment out of his pocket and gave it to Athos.

Carefully the musketeer smoothed it out and sighed. He looked up at Aramis. "There is a pretty penny on your head my friend. Four hundred livre for your capture."

"Let me see." Aramis held his hand out, sounding suddenly shocked.

The paper was a wanted poster with a rough sketch of Aramis and a description of him and his companions. "Two hundred apiece for each of you as well. They must really be desperate to get their hands on us…"

With a scowl the young musketeer threw the parchment into the fire where it quickly shrivelled and turned to ash.

"You know what this means? We have to go." Athos leaned forwards and made to put out the fire.

"We've only just got here! We'll be safe Athos, don't you trust me?" Porthos did his best to protest. After a while in the woods he was enjoying civilisation and he was quite at home with the anonymity of the crowd. Porthos had survived by blending in before... his old skills had not gone rusty with disuse.

"It's too dangerous. We might be recognised, and the cardinal's men must have been through here. They might still be around!"

"They're probably long gone, and I bet they've nailed those things to every tree between here and Paris - nowhere is going to be completely safe. We just have to be careful - as we always are - and we will go unnoticed."

Athos had managed to extinguish the fire but he stalled before gathering their belongings. "Aramis… what do you say?"

The young musketeer scrubbed at his face with an arm, clearly tired out. "I think we're safe enough here, there's nobody about in this quarter, and I cannot face another minute in the saddle. I would fall out of it as soon as I'd mounted… Let us stay, at least for tonight."

Finally Athos gave in. "Very well… but if we're woken by the cocking of pistols I will not be pleased."

**~oOo~**

As it happened the three musketeers made it through the night unharmed. When morning came Porthos did his usual disappearing act after loudly exclaiming he might bring them back a cloak each. Athos simply rolled his eyes and kindled a fire as soon as Porthos was out of sight. The morning was a chilly one... their breath clouded the air and frost touched the ground.

Aramis rubbed his arms vigorously, trying to get some warmth into them. "What are we doing Athos?" He sounded as miserable as sin.

"Slowly freezing to death?"

"I'm being serious… We're running blindly with no plan and no place to go. What are we supposed to do when winter sets in? We can't keep going on like this."

"Well we have been quite occupied trying to stay one step ahead of the authorities. 'Away from Paris' was as good a direction as any… Where are we supposed to go? We will forever be pursued in France, if we manage to settle somewhere we will live our lives looking over our shoulder. We might be able to reach the border, but which country shall we flee to? Who is going to take in treasonous musketeers? Maybe England or Spain would find our plight more favourable, but crossing the channel will be no easy task and Spain is hundreds of miles away. At our current pace we will not reach it before winter. So, Aramis, what would you have me do?"

"We should get out of France. I doubt we would make it across the channel, the cardinal's men are more numerous than rats on those docks. But I speak Spanish, we could get by in Spain. Even if winter comes before we get there it will not be as harsh the further south we travel. We can at least try." Aramis spoke more excitedly as he went on, the prospect of a warmer winter in Spain lifted his spirits.

But Athos remained stony faced. "This is something we should discuss when Porthos returns. He will need to have a say."

"As you wish…" Aramis reluctantly let the subject drop.

It was about an hour later when Porthos' heavy footsteps could be heard crunching on the frosted ground. He approached slowly… Aramis looked up to find him ashen faced.

Athos immediately assumed the worst and shot to his feet. "What is it? Were you seen? Are they coming for us?"

"No… no, sit back down." Porthos waved his hand at Athos and reluctantly cast his eyes towards Aramis.

"Then why do you look as if someone had died?" Athos asked as he resumed his place by the fire.

Porthos said nothing. He looked to the ground as if searching for an answer in the dirt. Not finding one the musketeer's eyes settled on Aramis once again.

"The people are all talking… News has just come from Paris…" Porthos spoke as if each word weighed a tonne, he struggled to get them out. "The queen has…"

At this Aramis sat up straight.

And Porthos wrestled his words into submission. "Aramis, I'm sorry… the baby did not survive."

Aramis remained silent.

_His child… His child was dead_.

It was a child that should not have been, it was a child that meant his own death, but it was still _his child_.

The world felt like it had fallen away from him. Aramis heard voices and felt hands at his shoulder, but what they said made no sense. The young musketeer could only hear his own words echo through the mist… _I will watch over your son and guard him with all my strength and heart. I will lay down my life for him if necessary. He will have no more devoted servant_… Aramis couldn't protect them. He had failed. The young musketeer felt guilt deepen around him… Even if it had been a natural death, even if God had simply decided to take his child, Aramis felt responsible. Maybe the stress of this concealment and discovery had taken its toll on Anne. Whatever the reason, Aramis was at fault, he had failed.

_His child was dead_.

There was a hollow in his heart. Yet no tears came. Aramis could hardly breathe, but he managed one question with a weak and cracked voice…

"Was it a girl or a boy?"

And through the fog Porthos answered solemnly: "You had a son, Aramis..."

"A boy... So she was right… I was supposed to watch over him. I was meant to…" At that his voice failed him, but he wanted to shout - I WAS MEANT TO DIE, NOT HIM! He had said he would lay down his life for their child and he had meant it.

The young musketeer was not angry, or perhaps he was just angry at the injustice of the world… That _his child_ should die having only a taste of life's breath, while he lingered in this scant existence. He got to his feet without quite realising it… He needed to walk, he needed to be alone. Hands tried to stop him, but he pushed them away.

"Aramis, where are you going?" Athos spoke coldly.

"Away from here." Aramis bit back in a vicious tone.

"You have to stay, you can't go wandering. Sit down."

"I can't… I need to go." He ran fractious hands through his hair and took a deep breath. "Please… let me go."

"No, sit down." Athos voice seemed to harden when his words were ignored. "_Sit down, Aramis._"

That was an order, and one not to be disobeyed.

All the while Porthos, the bearer of bad news, hesitated between the two. "Keep your voices down…"

He might as well not have spoken.

Aramis felt the hollow in his heart consume all, his voice darkened. "Leave me alone!"

Athos sighed and tried to calm things down. "Aramis my friend, I understand you have suffered a blow, but you cannot go wandering, not here…"

"You cannot order me to sit as if I am a dog at his master's feet!" Aramis' eyes were shining, his breath seemed to catch in his throat. "_My child is dead!_"

With that their tempers ignited again.

"A child you would never have known! It is not worth risking your neck over!"

"My neck is worth nothing!"

"And ours?!" Athos stepped forwards and took hold of Aramis' arm, making to force him back to the camp fire.

The young musketeer wasn't sure if he meant to do it or if it was a reflex action… but his fist shot out and connected with Athos' face. The older musketeer fell back and crashed hard against the ground. Porthos rushed to help him while Aramis simply stared at his own fist… He felt nothing.

And then he ran.

**~oOo~**

But Aramis could not run for long. Grief and exhaustion weighed him down. His constricted throat couldn't seem to gasp in the breath his body demanded… and so he dropped into a stumbling walk as the fog settled in around him once more.

Eventually Aramis started passing people. They were terrifying to him once, harbingers of death every one… It only took a single shout to bring a guard and that would bring the hangman eventually. But now he didn't care, and it was wonderfully freeing. Still, Aramis could not appreciate such freedom when his heart was being rent with sorrow. He didn't care if anyone shouted… he didn't care if they clapped him in irons… he didn't care if they placed his head in a noose. None of it mattered.

There were more buildings and more people, still Aramis didn't care. He wandered freely through their marketplace, paying no heed to brightly coloured stalls or groups of laughing children. Nobody paid him any attention, if they did it was simply to avoid him. With such a dishevelled downcast appearance the young musketeer was probably taken for a vagrant. Aramis quickly came to realise the ideal place to be alone was in a crowd. He was so used to being the centre of attention... In Paris every lady passing would get a sultry smile and a tip of the hat, but here everybody looked away. He was near invisible. And that suited his purpose, he was lost in grief and wanted to walk through the streets like the ghost he felt.

A spire caught Aramis' eye between the roofs of closely built houses. Perhaps that's where his feet were taking him… Perhaps God was calling to grant him comfort. Aramis passed through the streets, eyes fixed on the spire, ignoring all else about him. Finally the young musketeer came to stand before a church, stone wrought and old, it was nothing compared to the great cathedrals of Paris. But that did not matter to Aramis, it was a house of God like any other. He walked toward the large wooden doors that stood open, welcoming him in… The graveyard he passed through held stone carved angels, some were frozen in weeping poses, their wings spread to the sky. Other gravestones were small, cracked and weathered. Their writing was barely legible and the people in those graves were long forgotten by the living… as we all are eventually.

Sweet singing voices filtered through the doorway, and Aramis found a small choir on entering. He slipped into a pew at the back and let his eyes wander to the large stained glass window at the front. Its warm light cascaded across the cold stone floor and saints watched in judgement from their position on high. The harmonies echoed gloriously around Aramis, bouncing from each wall to crash into him, near tearing his soul from his body with the beauty of it. The young musketeer recognised the Miserere, he knew every word of the psalm that had been put to music.

_Miserere mei, Deus, secundum magnam misericordiam tuam..._

They sang in latin and Aramis whispered the words under his breath with clasped hands before him. "Have mercy upon me, O God, after Thy great goodness".

_Amplius lava me ab iniquitate mea, et a peccato meo munda me._

_Quoniam iniquitatem meam ego cognosco, et peccatum meum contra me est semper…_

"Wash me throughly from my wickedness, and cleanse me from my sin. For I acknowledge my faults, and my sin is ever before me".

_Cor mundum crea in me, Deus, et spiritum rectum innova in visceribus meis..._

"Make me a clean heart, O God, and renew a right spirit within me". The words went on and on and around and around.

Candles were extinguished as the verses filtered through the church, running endlessly like a river. Though eventually they did cease, giving over to silence and quiet reflection. Aramis took in a deep breath. The air of the church seemed musty but clean. The breath shuddered out of him as he thought of his child...

And he found that he was crying.

Not just for himself or the small life lost, but for Anne as well. Aramis fished the small golden cross from his pocket and reverently pressed it to his lips. The hurt for her must be immeasurable. To suffer another loss… Why God? Why would you take another child from her? Aramis looked up to the cross at the front, asking a question he knew would not be answered. But maybe God had not taken his son… Maybe the cardinal had… The thought was too much to bear. His forehead collapsed to his clasped hands and another sob wracked his frame. He wished with every bone of his body to comfort Anne as she had comforted him. That was where this had all started… a small act of comfort.

There was no comfort here. Not in the cold stone, not in the warm fractured light or the silence. Aramis came to realise he found comfort in the touch of another person. It was people that kept him together when he needed solace. There was nobody here. Where would he find comfort? _With the friends you pushed away… with the friend you punched_. A voice at the back of his head gave an answer. And Aramis felt suddenly ashamed. After Savoy they had comforted him, they had given him solace, and he had just run away… He would have to go back. He would have to apologise.

"Forgive me, I could not help but notice you grieving." Aramis registered a presence at his side and looked up to find the wrinkled face of a priest staring down at him.

For a moment he hesitated. Should he open his heart or make an escape? But it would not be right to shun this man of God… Aramis shuffled along the pew and made space for the man to sit down.

The priest sat with a stiffness that came of his age. "Might I ask what troubles you?"

"I have…" His voice seemed to dry up. Aramis wiped his eyes and cleared his throat. "I lost a child, I cannot comfort his mother, and I pushed away my friends…"

"Then you have much to grieve for, and I am sorry to hear it. I daresay your friends will forgive you, as for the mother, your wife?"

Aramis said nothing. He could not condemn himself and admit to fathering a child out of wedlock, nor could he lie to a priest. The young musketeer just stared stonily at the golden cross entwined about his fingers.

Seeing he was going to get no answer, the priest continued. He seemed a friendly provincial sort, one who was beyond standing on ceremony and chasing power… He was a stark contrast to the cardinal. "She will not find comfort with you or anybody else. Such is the pain that comes from a mother losing her child. Only time will prove a salve to that wound, and it will never heal entirely. _Stabat mater dolorosa_…"

The sorrowful mother stood… It was a mother's fate to weep for her children it seemed. Just as Mary wept for her son on the cross. The priest was right. It was a pain that could not be touched nor quelled.

"How old was your child?" The priest asked softly.

Aramis swallowed heavily. "He died shortly after birth."

At this the priest became quiet and looked away, he lost his gentle comforting manner and seemed suddenly mournful. Slowly it dawned on Aramis… his child had not been baptised. The thought filled him with horror. Baptism was necessary for salvation, would his son be denied entry to heaven?

"Please Father… please tell me my son will be at peace." Aramis' voice was quiet but desperate. "Tell me he is in heaven."

The priest seemed to hesitate. "I cannot say where his soul will rest. The fate of unbaptised children is not known to mortal man. We can but entrust him to the mercy of God."

Aramis felt himself crumple inside. How much mercy would God show to the bastard child of an adulterous tryst? He could only hope that the sins of the father would not pass to the son.

"There is hope. Jesus showed such tenderness to children, there must be a way of salvation for those unfortunate enough to die before baptism. I will pray for your son."

"Thank you Father…" Aramis found himself getting to his feet, his eyes were blurred with tears. He wanted to get out of this place. He believed in a God who loved… one who accepted, and forgave others. How could the fate of a newborn child be so uncertain?

The priest slowly got to his feet and stepped aside for Aramis to pass. "I will pray for you too, my son."

The young musketeer managed a sad smile. He had the feeling he would need more than prayers...

Aramis passed through the graveyard in a hurry and without a look back. He made his way through the marketplace and winding streets. The buildings seem to leer over at him as they met to form narrow alleyways… The young musketeer had walked through this town in his own head, and now he was out of it he wasn't quite sure where he was going. There seemed to be darkness in every corner… which way had he come from? He couldn't ask for directions, he would just have to wander and hope for the best. The young musketeer turned to slip down an alley. Now he was wary of the townspeople again he would rather avoid them if he could. He had only taken a few steps when the sound of another approached from behind… Aramis did not even get a chance to turn before receiving a blow to the head. And with that he crumpled gracelessly to the ground.

* * *

><p><strong>Note<strong>: For those interested, have a look on YouTube for "Vatican 1600 (Allegri's Miserere performed by the Tallis Scholars)". It's a beautiful rendition of the Miserere.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter Four**

When Athos had finished spitting blood he insisted on going after Aramis. But Porthos told his friend to stay put - he would follow Aramis and bring the young musketeer back. The last thing they needed was an argument in the middle of the town square.

It was easy enough to catch up with Aramis, he had not been able to run far. But instead of confronting him Porthos decided to follow at a discreet distance. If he needed a bit of time alone to grieve then Porthos would grant it. Aramis was not a creature to be trammelled, and he never had been. Porthos watched over his friend as he passed through the streets in a daze, the musketeer was far enough away not to be detected, but close enough to step in should there be trouble.

They wound through the marketplace, and Porthos couldn't help himself. He snatched up an apple from a stall as the vendor looked away. It was hastily concealed beneath his cloak and he was away again. There was more than one ghost in this town today… A spire rose up along the line of roofs, and Porthos guessed where his friend was heading. Sure enough they arrived at a church. Once Aramis was inside Porthos went into the graveyard and picked out a spot where he wouldn't be seen. The musketeer leaned against a mournful cherub longingly draped over a headstone, and then he took out his apple… Aramis was probably going to be a while.

Porthos was very nearly starting to doze off when he heard footsteps on the path. He looked up to find Aramis striding from the church, seemingly intent on a mission. Quickly getting to his feet, Porthos scrambled after his friend. They were back in the marketplace in no time at all, and then Aramis was turning down a side street. Porthos went to follow when a loud voice sounded behind him.

"Oi! That's my cloak!"

Porthos wheeled about and glared. Most men knew to back down when they saw that expression. "It most certainly is not!"

"It was stolen from me, and I recognise you - you were in the very same tavern that night. You must have taken it!" The man was not much smaller than Porthos, but he was wiry framed and would be no match should it come to blows. Still… he had a couple of friends with him.

"I did not! How dare you accuse me Monsieur?!" Porthos roared, mindful of the attention he was attracting.

"Look! There is the stain from some wine I spilled this past week, my wife has not been able to remove it. That is _my_ cloak." The man was insistent.

"And I might very well say the same of your clothes! Look, upon your leg - there is the stain from my dog relieving itself!" That drew a laugh from the onlookers.

The aggrieved gentleman didn't so much as smile. "Monsieur, perhaps I shall call for the guard to resolve this issue?".

That had Porthos shucking off the cloak. Apart from risking the guard getting involved, he had to find Aramis…

"Alright, have the blasted cloak." He dropped it on the ground and made sure to tread on it as he left. "There are a few more stains for your wife to work on!"

Porthos jogged off in the direction he had seen Aramis go, but he soon came to a halt… There were too many alleyways and passageways to choose from down here. Which way had he gone? Porthos cursed under his breath and went to look down each, he couldn't shout his friend's name… not here. And then the glint of something in the dirt caught his eye. The musketeer took a few steps down a dark alleyway and bent to retrieve the item… A small golden cross.

And a few drops of blood.

"Oh no… _Aramis._"

**~oOo~**

"... the same! I'm telling you, look at him!"

Aramis gradually came to awareness… There was a rough hand in his hair. The fist held his face to the light and shook his aching head vigorously. It was not the most pleasant way to wake up.

"Nah, you've just picked up a beggar. Look at the state of him."

"What about this fine dagger. Would a beggar have this?"

Aramis cracked an eye open slightly to find his own weapon being waved around victoriously above his head. The young musketeer wished he'd picked up his sword before storming off… With the arguing going on he gathered this was the man who had hit him over the head, and these people would be intent on collecting the reward. He _needed_ to get away.

"He must have stolen it. He was probably going to sell it for food, I doubt he'd know how to use it. Those hands are used to digging through scraps, not wielding fine weapons. You've got the wrong man." The sceptic was older, he wore an apron and Aramis detected the scent of smoke on the air… a smith, he was a smith.

After a quick peep the young musketeer kept his eyes closed, if they thought he was still unconscious he might be able to take them by surprise. As such Aramis didn't get a good look at the man yanking his head about, he was younger and a brute, the musketeer could tell that much.

"Just think of the reward, if it is him. Think what we could do with that money!"

The older man harrumphed and turned back to stoke his fire. At this the young man dropped Aramis and foolishly placed the dagger down just out of reach… He approached the older man, perhaps his father, begging him to consider the money.

Aramis took his chance, he made for the dagger, stretching his arm out, hoping to grab it without alerting the two men. Out of nowhere the smith slammed the poker he was working on down on Aramis' outstretched arm. The young musketeer cried out at the pain of it, the force of the blow hurt enough, but the heated metal scorched his flesh as well. When the smith finally drew it away Aramis curled around his injured limb, gasping for breath.

"You foolish boy, what did you leave his dagger there for?" The older man hit his son about the head. "Alright, tie the wretch up and I'll go to fetch a guard… but if this is the wrong man and you make a laughing stock out of me…" He left the threat hanging in the air.

There were plenty of chains in the smithy and the young man was rough as he tried to wrestle Aramis' wrists together. The young musketeer did not make it easy, even though his left arm hurt like hell he twisted and turned until the brute punched him viciously across the face. He blacked out for a moment and when Aramis recovered his wits his arms were raised over his head. The lad had suspended his chains from a hook in the smithy… the young musketeer's toes were only just touching the ground.

His captor sat across from him, dismantling the musketeer with his eyes. Dirty blonde hair strove to conceal them, cruel as they were. He was built like his father, strong and stocky, just as a smith should be.

"My name is Gaston, I am pleased to make your acquaintance. And your name might be?"

The lad was going to have to hit him harder over the head before he gave his name up that easily.

"Alex."

"Don't lie to me… _Aramis_. That is your name isn't it?"

Aramis did not react. "I am not who you think I am."

"Oh I think you are _exactly_ who I think you are, and it will be easier on us all if you just admit it." Gaston went to retrieve the poker his father had just used. "See, my father puts a lot of stock in his reputation and he will not deal well with being humiliated. I'll see you suffer before I suffer myself, I will mark you before he gets a chance to mark me again…"

The lad pulled his shirt up a little to reveal a scar no doubt inflicted with heated metal. "But I am a generous soul, and I'll give you one chance to tell me the truth. What is your name?"

"Alex." Aramis answered without hesitation.

And the blow came without hesitation. The poker struck him in the ribs and Aramis bit back a scream.

"What is your name?" Gaston's voice was calm and emotionless.

It took Aramis a moment longer to answer, but his answer remained the same. "Alex."

The blow cracked across the other side of his body and Aramis couldn't help but yell as he felt bone give way.

"What is your name?"

"Alexander!" Aramis shouted, pain fuelling his anger.

This time the boy used the point to dig in and scratch across his chest. Blood welled up in it's wake…

Aramis didn't even wait for the question this time. "My name is ALEXANDER!"

Gaston rushed forwards and gripped his jaw painfully tight. "Stop. Lying. To. Me."

Aramis snarled through the brute's fingers. "The world is full of lies boy. You heard one every time your mother said she loved you."

There was a wild look in Gaston's eyes now, he reared back to strike at the musketeer's legs. The lad dealt violence out like one who was used to receiving it. Something had snapped in him on finding the tables turned, he had the power now, and he was going to wield it...

The young musketeer's legs were knocked from under him with the blow, letting his full weight pull agonisingly on his wrists. A cry tore from Aramis' throat, it descended into a sort of broken laughter. What did it matter? The guards were coming, the hangman on their heels… or maybe this boy would kill him first. Pain was a transient meaningless thing, though it burned through him, setting his nerves on fire. Anger scorched his heart just as strong. If he were free he would rip this boy apart. There was a base animalistic part of Aramis seeping through, it was hurting and it wanted to hurt. Aramis would usually keep it in check, but why should he? What did it matter? Let this boy try to collect coins for his carcass…

"How bold you are standing there with a poker in hand! What an honourable victor! Besting a tied and beaten man. You even struck me on the head from behind, you coward! You cannot face me!" Aramis roared, his eyes matching the wild look in Gaston's. "Let me down and face me like a man!"

"First you must tell me your name!"

"My name is _Aramis_!"

At that Gaston rushed forwards and loosened the chains. Aramis fell down, but adrenaline was overriding whatever pain had been inflicted on his broken body. He scrambled over to his dagger and turned to meet a savage swipe from Gaston. Aramis let the boy's blow sail past before going in behind it and pushing him backwards. Gaston had the longer weapon, but he had no idea how to use it, he was a simple brute with a bludgeon. The two whirled about the smithy, trading blows, knocking into racks, crashing and raising a terrible racket. It quickly attracted attention from the street. But Aramis didn't care. He saw red… or maybe it was the blood seeping into his eyes. Gaston swung at the musketeer and he backed up, suddenly finding himself barrelling through the door onto the street.

A small crowd gathered around the two, they roared amid a spray of spittle and blood. Striking, dodging, howling like animals. Finally Gaston put all his might behind a blow, Aramis got out of the way and missed it by a hair. Instead the poker struck into solid brick wall and the spike jammed for a moment, Aramis took the opportunity and shot forwards, driving his dagger into Gaston's throat. It sunk into flesh so easily... They both crashed to the ground, a pool of dark blood spraying and spreading.

Breathing heavily with his opponent defeated Aramis tried to push himself up, but his left arm gave way. Adrenaline was deserting him. Aramis' ribs burned with every breath he dragged in… A voice at the back of his head said he needed to get up and get away. The guard would come, the guard were coming! And these people had seen everything… But the young musketeer's broken body just wouldn't obey. A haze was settling over him, a fog he couldn't think or move through…

And a then a voice he knew pierced through it all. "Let me through!"

It came closer. "I'm here… I'm here, it's okay."

Aramis felt himself being lifted up… and then darkness.

**~oOo~**

When next Aramis circled around consciousness he was still surrounded by mist… voices drifted in and out. He couldn't quite pull himself to wakefulness.

"... lost him. I looked everywhere until I found a crowd watching two men fighting. One being our friend here, Aramis stabbed the other guy in the neck and I just grabbed him and ran."

"You weren't followed?"

"No, I think they were more concerned about the lad. But the guard are almost certainly going to come looking. They'll not let a murder go unpunished…"

_Murder? He wasn't a murderer! He was defending himself!_

"We'll have to patch him up as best we can and move on."

"I'm not sure it's wise to move him… he certainly can't ride a horse."

Aramis felt hands on him. A cloth wiped at his face. He had never felt so helpless, he was like a child having his mucky face washed by his mother. Aramis longed to bat the cloth away, but his hands didn't seem to work… Through a cracked blurry eye the young musketeer perceived a cloth stained with red. Fingers probed at his injuries. As they found his broken ribs he cried out weakly.

"Alex..." The pain drew a sudden reflexive answer from his lips.

"Aramis? Are you awake?"

He tried to give an answer, but his head lolled uselessly.

"Do you think he was caught? These injuries look like more than a fight… his wrists are marked, he must have been chained."

Aramis felt pain flare up his arm as they handled it, though they were trying to be as gentle as possible.

"I'm worried about this…"

Aramis moaned as somebody - Athos? - examined it carefully.

"I'm sorry, I know it hurts, but I have to look…"

It _hurt_. It felt like a wolf was savaging his arm. He tried to pull away but the limb was held fast.

"Hmm, he might be lucky, I can't feel an obvious break, but it is swelling, and we'll have to clean the burn as well as his other wounds. Have we any wine left?"

"A little…"

"Can you fetch it? And something I can make a sling out of… Aramis? Are you with me?"

He managed to crack his eyes open, though the brightness of the nearby fire hurt. "Mmm…"

"I'm going to clean you up, and it's going to hurt a little. It looks like you've been hit on the head already so I would rather not knock you out, will you be okay?"

"Yes…" Everything felt so sluggish. Somewhere in his head Aramis was alright, but his body and his lips wouldn't obey his commands. There was something else… something he had to tell Athos, something he was coming back to say… "Athos?"

"Yes?"

Aramis tried to fix his eyes on the figure drifting about in front of him. "… m'sorry."

Athos didn't reply.

"Here you go." Porthos interrupted with wine.

They gave him a sip and then set about using the alcohol to wash his wounds out. The worst was his arm, the pain nearly had him biting through his lip. He tried to breath through it, but the young musketeer's breath turned into a staccato struggle as his broken ribs made themselves known.

"Let him rest a minute…" Porthos said.

"I'm almost done."

Aramis' started to wheeze and rasp as he struggled for air.

"Let him rest Athos." That was more of an order, though Porthos had no authority to make it. "Breathe Aramis, easy now… in… out… take it slow."

In. Out. In. Out... It sounded so simple, but every in and out felt like he was being stabbed in the chest. Still, at Porthos' urging Aramis managed to slow and calm his breath. Instead of snatching at the air a rhythm returned, he just made sure not to breathe too deeply.

Once Athos had placed a makeshift sling around his neck the musketeer seemed satisfied.

"We need to get under cover, we're too exposed here if they start searching... I had a look around while you were gone and I found a disused storage building not far from here. Part of the roof has collapsed in, but it should be safe enough. There are plenty of old crates and such we can use to conceal ourselves with as well. Porthos, put out the fire and gather our things… Aramis?"

"Mmm?"

"We need to move, can you stand?"

Aramis gave a slight nod and tried to co-operate when Athos pulled at his good arm. He winced and grimaced but managed to stand with Athos' help. Walking was another matter entirely… even with his arm slung across Athos' shoulders his right leg wouldn't take his weight.

"Aramis… your leg."

"m'fine." He mumbled and tried to pull Athos along.

"Hold up, we need to take a look at that. Porthos?"

While Athos held Aramis up, Porthos pulled down his trousers. He was too exhausted to protest the indignity of it at this point. Porthos inhaled sharply at finding the young musketeer's thigh half black and blue.

Athos sighed. "Dear God, is there anywhere he didn't hit you?"

"Gave… as good as I got." Aramis huffed a weak laugh.

"Just bruised I think…" Porthos growled. "If you hadn't have killed him I'd have done it myself."

Step by painful step they struggled over to the storage building. It was old and well into the process of falling down. As Athos had noted, a section of roof was missing, and fallen brickwork scattered the ground amidst the tussocks of rough grass. The large wooden door did not need to be broken into, it was half hanging off its hinges already. The three musketeers got inside easily.

While Athos made Aramis comfortable on some old discarded sacks in a corner, Porthos set to work lugging crates and debris around to conceal them from sight. It wouldn't withstand a thorough search, but anybody peering through the door or a window would see nothing more than a heap of rubbish. Porthos just hoped the guards were as lazy and incompetent as he thought they were.

They passed the night in darkness, not daring to start a fire. To guard against the cold they huddled together as best they could, while trying not to jostle Aramis' injuries. None of the musketeers were able to sleep a great deal. Pain kept Aramis awake - just breathing was a battle - his shallow breaths and occasional gasping struggles kept the other two awake. Though Porthos and Athos would have been awake anyway. Now on alert they listened for any slight sound in the darkness… A sudden scrabbling had Porthos bolt upright and training his pistol on the door. He was expecting a guard to burst in, it was a relief when a stray cat poked its nose in on them. But every strong gust of wind, every bird in the rafters, set his heart racing. There was no rest for any of them that night.

When morning came the three men were quiet, nothing passed between them but the slight huffs of breath from Aramis. They were tired and hollow eyed, not one wanted to grasp the thorny issue before them, but it had to be tackled…

Eventually Porthos cleared his throat. "I should go and see what's happening… see if they're organising searches."

"No". Athos' voice was hard, even through the layers of exhaustion. "We have enough food for a few days. We can sit tight and give Aramis a chance to recover… then we go."

Porthos gave a hollow laugh. "He has broken ribs. It's going to take more than a few days for him to recover. Besides, if we're going to be out in the wilds again we'll need more food. I can go and get some more supplies and see what they're up to while I'm at it. There could be guards heading this way right now and we wouldn't even know."

"We can stay hidden here. If you're seen you might lead them right back to us!" Athos' voice grew harsh beneath the tension.

"I'll be discreet!" Porthos protested.

"You'll be dead if they catch you!"

"We can't sit here cowering like scared rabbits!"

"Better scared rabbits than dead rabbits!"

"Stop… Please…" Aramis' weak voice fell between them. He tried to push himself up and Athos came to help when he winced and fell back. "You should leave… both of you… go."

At that Athos mock frowned and put a hand to Aramis' forehead. "What? Are you delirious? Of course we're not going to leave you."

Aramis managed a glare. "It's me they want… you can go… let them have me." His words were punctuated by pauses for breath.

"No." Porthos cut a hand through the air as if to emphasise his point. "Not going to happen."

"I'm holding you back… you can get away…" He looked at them with pleading eyes.

"Aramis, you're hardly at death's door now. You're not holding us back, this is just a… minor inconvenience." Athos struggled for a moment to find the right words. "We can work around this."

"How? I can't ride… can't fight… m'useless."

"We'll find a way." Athos gave his leg a gentle pat. "No man gets left behind."

"But it's my fault… It's my fault you're here… all my fault." Aramis' eyes flickered closed as if he were fighting sleep.

Porthos came to sit by Aramis, his voice was low and gentle. "Yeah, a lot of this is your fault. But it's not your fault we're here... we _chose_ to come. We couldn't abandon you then, and we're not going to abandon you now - one for all and all for one, remember?"

At that Aramis gave a slight smile.

"Oh, I nearly forgot…" Porthos dug around in his pocket and pulled out Anne's delicate golden cross. "You dropped this, I thought you might want it back."

Aramis reached out with his good hand and enclosed the cross in a shaking fist, pressing it reverently to his lips. The young musketeer's eyes shone with unshed tears at the reminder of Anne and their child. He thought the cross was lost forever… "Thank you, Porthos."

"Now try to get some sleep. I'll go and check on the horses… if Athos will let me." He slid a furtive look at the other musketeer and Athos raised an eyebrow.

At that Aramis snagged Porthos' sleeve. "Don't go…"

"Oh, so you want me to stay now? Well, maybe Athos will check the horses if he's brave enough to go outside." Porthos said with a teasing tone.

"That's if they're still where we left them. You did a rather shoddy job with that fence."

They had found a small paddock, or the remnants of one, Porthos had been insistent he could block the rather large hole in the fencing. It had clearly been a long time since any livestock had been held there.

"I'd like to see you do any better with what we had to hand!"

"Hush…" Athos nodded towards Aramis who had finally fallen asleep.

**~oOo~**

Aramis may have fallen asleep but his dreams were anything but restful. He was plagued by dead bodies in the snow, where hollow eyes turned to stare and ravens came to feast. The young musketeer flinched as black feathers brushed his cheek, but he was frozen and powerless to stop their jagged beaks rending and tearing… Through the flurry of liquid black feathers Aramis caught sight of the dead, they were children now. He lay in a field of dead babes with alabaster faces and blue lips, their eyes forever focussed on a sanguine metal dawn. As the sun washed his nightmare world in blood, the feathers at his face became a gentle touch and Aramis looked up to find Anne caressing his cheek. He reached out to her, but she turned away with tears in her eyes. And then suddenly there was a red hot poker flying towards his face.

Aramis jerked awake with a broken cry. Being jolted from sleep so suddenly he gasped and set his chest on fire. The young musketeer began to cough fiercely, yet every spasm of his chest brought more pain. He tried to stop breathing but he only seemed to gasp and cough all the more. Hands were on him, around him, holding him… Anne? No… she was far, far away from here... Aramis choked and wheezed, saliva dripped down his chin. There was a voice telling him to breathe. He wanted to shout - _I can't!_ The young musketeer felt like he was dying, but eventually he settled down into hitched breaths and the world coalesced around him… It was Athos rubbing circles into his back and wiping his mouth gently with a rag.

"Are you alright now?"

Aramis gave a nod, he was scared using his voice might set off another bout of coughing.

"Good… I'm just going to have a look at your injuries now you're awake."

Still, Aramis closed his eyes, too exhausted to pay attention while Athos worked. Normally he would bat away his friend's ministrations and insist he was fine. Instead the young musketeer withstood Athos pulling his shirt up and manhandling him as if he were as powerless as a rag doll. Even the occasional stabs of pain elicited nothing more than a wince.

"Well, you've got some impressive bruising, but no sign of infection thank God. Still, we'll give them another clean when Porthos gets back."

"Where is he?" Aramis asked tiredly. He hadn't even noticed Porthos was gone, it left him feeling suddenly uneasy.

"Now it's darker I let him go and check on the horses. He should be back soon." Athos shifted about, also seeming uneasy.

Sure enough Porthos returned moments later, pushing himself through the gap in the doorway.

"Still there are they?" Athos asked wryly.

"Still there, but I hid them in the barn because guards are out there too." Porthos' voice was grim.

At that Athos sat up. "You weren't seen were you? The horses, were they…"

"No, no… the guards were posted on the road out of town, and a few were patrolling the outskirts."

Athos glared. The horses were left far from any road. "I thought you just went to check on the horses."

"I did… I just took the scenic route." Porthos replied with a slight grin.

At that Athos gave a sigh. "You'll be the death of me you will…" He cast a wary eye over Aramis. "We need to go, before they have a chance to get organised and shut this place down entirely."

"Let me go into town tomorrow, I'll pick up some supplies and see what the guards are up to. We can go straight afterwards, take it nice and slow with Aramis."

"Porthos… it's too dangerous to go into the town. We can get supplies from somewhere else."

"You would risk being stranded in the middle of nowhere with nothing? And with Aramis like this?"

Athos scowled. "We'll talk about this tomorrow, try to get some rest for now…" He was loath to start arguing and risk disturbing Aramis as they had before.

In truth Aramis wasn't really paying attention. Despite the chill in the air he felt quite warm… They came to settle beside him in their usual places, trying and failing to sleep.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

During the night Aramis' breathing took on a horrible rasping quality. By morning his eyes were glassy and he was far too hot.

Athos pressed a cold hand to the young musketeer's forehead and sighed. "He's running a fever… but his wounds were not infected when last I checked."

He looked at the injuries to Aramis' chest and arm once again and found them clean. Just then Aramis started to cough, and did his best to suppress it.

"It's his chest… he's not been breathing right." Porthos rolled Aramis on to his side as he struggled to to take in air.

The young musketeer wrapped his arms tight around his chest as if he were trying to hold himself together. He coughed and choked with eyes tight shut against the pain. Athos rubbed his back again while Aramis moaned between snatched breaths. Eventually the coughing abated leaving Aramis gasping with a trail of spittle and mucus running between his lips. Wordlessly Athos wiped it away and helped Porthos settle him back down.

Aramis blinked hard. "Don't feel… well."

"No, you're not… Rest Aramis, don't try to speak. You'll feel better soon."

Porthos looked at Athos with a stony glint in his eyes. "Will he?"

"Yes, we're going to get out of here and he'll get better…" The exhaustion was weighing on Athos too, he sounded completely drained.

"Wishing won't make it so Athos." Porthos cast a look to the door. "There's a physician in town. I'll get something to help… I'm going, no matter what you say."

"Porthos… don't be a fool.".

"I won't sit here and watch him die!"

"He's not dying!" Athos summoned a last bit of energy to shout.

"Isn't he? His lungs are infected and he's been beaten half to hell. There's hardly a scrap of meat on him - on any of us - and you want to go hauling him across the country. If he's not dying he will be!"

Athos looked down at Aramis, worried that Porthos' outburst had scared him. But the young musketeer's eyes were darting about the room after nothing, his breath came in strained wheezes.

"Go then…"

"I _will_ return." Porthos clapped Athos on the shoulder and got to his feet. "Look after him."

While Porthos was gone Aramis fell into fevered ramblings. There was little sense in his words… a few sentences of scripture… a proclamation of love for a long forgotten lady… but most were unintelligible.

Suddenly the young musketeer's eyes shot wide open and his good arm reached for Athos' wrist.

"Don't leave me! Please don't leave!" He looked terrified.

"I won't, I'm right here Aramis, I'm not going anywhere…" The tight grip on his wrist was starting to hurt.

"Don't leave me with _them_… Marsac, please!"

So it was Savoy that Aramis was seeing. His breath started to stutter amidst his panic. Athos pulled Aramis' fingers from his wrist and took the shaking hand in both of his own.

"It's _Athos_ and you are far, far away from that place. Marsac is long dead and buried in the ground. Listen to me Aramis - He's not here, none of them are."

Aramis looked at him with an expression of pure confusion before lying his head back down and succumbing to a fit of coughing. Athos rolled him over, it was horrible to watch the young musketeer struggle. After placing a cloth to Aramis' mouth Athos quietly cursed at seeing it stained with spittle and mucus... at least there were no flecks of blood. His lungs were not damaged, just diseased. Still… that was enough. Athos hated sickness, it always left him feeling helpless. With injuries you could do something - you could stitch wounds and splint bones, but disease had to be waited out. You were entirely in the hands of God when illness struck.

Eventually the coughing stilled, but Aramis was making horrendous gasping sounds. It was as if he couldn't get air into his lungs, he was snatching at it, but not gaining anything. Athos eased the young musketeer up and sat behind him. With Aramis' trembling form resting against his chest Athos could feel the heat of his skin through both their shirts.

"Aramis, I need you to breathe in. Steady now… you feel my chest at your back? Try to match it…"

Athos stopped talking for a moment and drew in a deep breath before letting it out slowly. He could feel Aramis shudder in a slight breath and let it go.

"That's it, try again… breathe with me now. We'll do this together."

Aramis took in another weak breath, not quite able to match Athos, but trying anyway. Although the musketeer kept wheezing his breathing settled into something of a rhythm and the terrible gasping ceased.

When Porthos came back he found them in the same position - Aramis resting in Athos' arms, both of them quiet… simply breathing.

"How is he?" Worry creased Porthos' brow.

"No better, no worse... It's good to see you made it back alive anyway."

A smile nearly pulled at the corner of Porthos' lips. He went to ferret through his bag and retrieved a couple of bottles.

"I picked up some food and water as well as these. One is for the pain, one will help with the fever. The physician said he needs to breathe deep, he'll be able to do that if his ribs don't hurt." He came to kneel beside the two men and handed Athos a bottle.

"Aramis, take a sip of this, it'll make you feel better…" Athos put the bottle to his lips and the young musketeer managed to drink a little. He went for the other one and gave Porthos a pointed look. "Pray tell, how did you come by all of this?"

"People are very eager to help those in need, especially when a loaded pistol is involved…"

"_Porthos_…" His name was said in a chastising manner. "He could have called the guard down on you!"

"I was long gone before he had the chance to reach any guards… They are organising though, the cardinal's men are here too. I saw them arrive… along with some musketeers."

At that Athos' face paled. "They are sending our own regiment after us?"

"Well, Aramis is accused of treason against the king, and musketeers are supposed to protect the king… They probably think those that know us best will be able to find us too."

"Did you recognise any of them?"

"Julien and Andre might have been amongst them, but I didn't stick around to look. Think we might be able to persuade someone to turn a blind eye while we escape?"

Athos seemed to think about it for a moment before shaking his head. "It's too risky. Wait until it gets dark and then go to fetch the horses. We can give Aramis more of this pain tincture for the journey, he'll be alright… we cannot linger any longer."

At that Porthos gave a firm nod of agreement.

**~oOo~**

Once again Athos found himself tending Aramis while Porthos fetched their horses. Night had fallen but the darkness was not complete. A full moon gave enough light to see by. It shone through the shattered windows casting shadows amidst the debris of the building. Athos just stared mutely towards the doorway, hoping for Porthos to step through and fearing a guard would instead. All was silent but for the ramblings of Aramis, his fever bright eyes glinted in the moonlight.

Suddenly Athos heard footsteps outside. The light of a torch flickered as somebody passed the window… Athos bundled Aramis up in his arms again and whispered a slight "hush" at his ear. Surely Porthos would not be foolish enough to light up a torch?

There was a scrabbling sound outside and a voice shouted. "Show yourself!" An anxious beat passed by… "Damned cat… just a mangy stray." The footsteps resumed their walk.

Athos' breath caught in his chest. _There was somebody out there_. And Aramis had not quietened down. Words kept spilling from his lips and they became more frantic as Athos clutched at him. He seemed to imagine he was in the grip of some enemy.

"Let me go!" A sudden shout broke from the young musketeer.

"Quiet Aramis! _Please_ be quiet!" Athos hissed.

"Get awa-"

Athos cut Aramis off by clapping a hand over his mouth. Even as weak as he was the young musketeer managed to put up quite a struggle.

"Shut up… Aramis, for mercy's sake _shut up._"

A muffled yell sounded against his hand.

The torch was thrust through the broken doorway and swept back and forth. Athos caught sight of its light being thrown high up the wall, thankfully they were concealed from view with the small barricade Porthos built… but if the intruder decided to come in and look around they were done for.

"Who goes there? Show yourself!" The guard's voice bounced around the walls, he sounded young, and quite familiar… one of the musketeers perhaps.

Aramis writhed against Athos, and then he stilled, beginning to choke… _oh no_… If he were succumbing to a coughing fit there was no chance of keeping him quiet. Athos tightened his hand over Aramis' mouth, hating himself for making it even harder to breathe. Though better this than being found - the hangman's noose would make breathing harder still.

Aramis strained and struggled, gasping and heaving against Athos' restraining hands. But Athos had his eyes firmly on the torch… It advanced inside, illuminating the figure bearing it - Marius… a musketeer indeed. Not one Athos knew well. He was a fairly new recruit, not much older than d'Artagnan but more wet behind the ears.

"I know there's somebody in here." Marius strode forwards with all the ill placed confidence of youth. "If you come out I will not shoot!"

Athos felt Aramis' chest go into spasms… it was over, he couldn't do this any more. His hand slipped away and Aramis bent forwards, hacking cough after cough before gasping at the air. Marius rushed around the crates and raised his pistol at them.

"Athos!" He seemed astounded to find them there.

"You can put the pistol down… we're no danger to you." Athos sounded utterly resigned.

The gun didn't waver. "On your feet, you're coming with me. Have you any weapons?"

Athos raised a tired finger to point out his sword in the corner with their scant belongings.

"Get up, on your feet." Marius waved the pistol eagerly.

"Alright…" Athos carefully slid himself out from around Aramis who was still curled up, struggling for breath. "Why not put the gun away? I told you we're no danger."

"Get him up too."

"Does he look like he can walk?" A note of irritation crept into Athos' voice.

And then there was the beautiful sound of another gun cocking.

"They might not be a danger to you, but_ I _am." Porthos stepped forwards out of the shadows, his own pistol trained on Marius. The musketeer hadn't been joking when he said he could avoid being seen if he wished…

"What if I shoot first?" The confidence had drained from his voice now, Marius sounded more like a scared boy.

"You won't." In contrast Porthos remained calm and cool, though his voice held a dangerous edge. "Put the gun down and we can talk. Keep hold of it and I can't guarantee you'll leave here alive."

"You wouldn't…" Marius paused to lick his dry lips. "... you wouldn't kill one of your own."

"Oh didn't you hear?" Porthos let his voice drop to a sinister level. "We've been cast out, we're criminals now… treasonous… murderous… We're not above taking lives - the smith's boy could tell you that if his throat wasn't slit."

At that Marius crouched down to place his pistol on the ground. Athos rushed forwards to pick it up.

"That's better, now let's have a talk…" Porthos pushed the lad down to sit on the ground while Athos went to tend to Aramis. "Who are you on patrol with? You wouldn't have been sent out here on your own."

"Andre… but he left me, he saw a…" Marius blushed slightly in the torchlight. "He went with a…"

"Let me guess: a girl?" Porthos raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, one of _them._" Marius looked away, embarrassed.

"I don't care what he's up to, I only care that he's left you alone. You're a good lad Marius, I always liked you."

At that the boy looked up with a smile.

"I know you think you're doing the right thing turning us in, but this is the cardinal's doing, you know that right? We're no more treasonous than you are." Porthos gripped Marius' shoulder, trying to make a connection with the boy.

"I've got my orders... I have to bring you in." Marius' eyes seemed apologetic. He was wavering.

"If you were ordered to shoot your own mother would you? Orders aren't always right, especially when they lead back to the cardinal… you know in your heart what feels right."

"Well… a few of us aren't all that happy about coming after you truth be told."

Porthos was winning Marius over. "You can let us go and nobody need know of this."

Marius frowned for a moment. "You wouldn't get far, all the ways out of town are being watched… Although I am due to relieve the guard on the east road over the river in half an hour. I doubt Andre will be back in time. I could let you… No, no… I can't, they would have my head if they found out."

"Look, Aramis is sick, we need to get him out of here." As if on cue the young musketeer gave a harsh cough and Athos rubbed his back. "You don't want him to die do you? Either sickness or the hangman's going to take him if you don't let us go."

"And the hangman will have me if I let you go!"

At that Athos cleared his throat. "We can always knock you out. Then you can claim we attacked you, and we'll be long gone by the time they send anyone after us."

Porthos tried to give a reassuring smile. "Don't worry. I'll leave you pretty."

Marius blanched. "Alright then."

**~oOo~**

They had half an hour and it passed by far too quickly. The musketeers gathered their belongings and hurriedly packed them away in saddlebags. Their horses stood ready where Porthos had tied them, their black coats made them mere shadows in the moonlight. Before long Marius left for his post… it was nearly time.

Athos had a dreadful feeling about all of this. They had pinned everything on Marius being reliable - it was not a sound tactic in Athos' mind. "Are you sure we can trust him? He could go right back and tell them where we are."

"We have no choice but to trust him. Unless you would rather look for another way out? If we find any guards I could provide a distraction while you…"

"No, we stick together, I'm not risking you getting left behind or caught… but if we do get separated we can meet at that hollowed out tree in the woods, the one we took shelter in remember?" Athos secured his last bag and went to mount his horse.

"Yes, I know the one. Hold up, you take Henri, he'll be faster with two people, I'll ride your horse and lead Aramis'." Not knowing the horse's name they had taken to calling him after his master, no matter how distasteful the man had been.

Athos nodded his agreement and went to mount Henri while Porthos led over a very shaky Aramis. Porthos hefted him up in front of Athos as easily as if were lifting a child. The young musketeer was in no state to ride his own horse, Storm, so they decided Athos would ride with him.

Aramis' head lolled back against Athos' shoulder, but he was pleased to note he didn't feel as warm as before. The tincture Porthos had brought back must have been taking an effect. Carefully Athos placed his arm around Aramis' chest, mindful of his broken ribs, and with the other he took up Henri's reins. The lively horse gave a snort and set off at a brisk walk with Porthos following close behind.

As the three musketeers made their way to the bridge they heard the town bell strike the hour. If all was well Marius would be taking his post… Thankfully the outskirts of the town were quiet, a curfew seemed to have been imposed. An inn stood at the path leading into town, normally such places were full of raucous drinking and gambling, but tonight it stood silent. There wasn't a soul to be seen apart from the odd guard. They had to circle back to avoid a patrol, but the three musketeers managed to make it unhindered.

A well worn road stood ahead, lined either side by trees and thick undergrowth. The pale moonlight cast strange shadows and washed the colours of the world into hues of silvered grey. It seemed quite unsettling… Athos shivered, though he blamed it on the frigid air. They rode on at a slower walk, listening out for any rustle in the bushes that might betray an ambush. But Athos heard nothing more than the rasping breath of Aramis at his ear.

The noise of the river reached them as they neared the bridge. It was not the widest of rivers, but it was swollen with rain water and made quite a roar rushing under the small stone bridge. On the bank a figure stood to attention - Marius. But Athos felt no relief, not yet… he would not feel safe until they were well away from here. His heart was racing fit to burst through his chest, the hand that held Aramis was clammy with sweat. This was the moment… They would stand or fall on the trust they placed in this young man.

Athos urged his horse on, behind him he heard Porthos swear at Aramis' mount - taking advantage of having no rider Storm was pulling away to eat at the bushes. But Athos couldn't smile nor summon a wry comment, he just held on to Aramis a little more tightly. The man wheezed a slight cough and lay still. They had given him more of the pain medication to make riding a little more comfortable. Athos hoped it was working… they would have to go at a faster pace as soon as the bridge was crossed.

"Marius? Is everything alright?" The boy's hat concealed his features in the half light, but when he looked up Athos couldn't help but notice his eyes were wide with fear.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know…" Marius' voice shook, but he didn't get to say any more before Andre stepped out from behind a tree to level a pistol at Athos. With their hands full Athos and Porthos had no chance to draw their own guns out first.

"Well well, look who it is - the Inseparables!" He leered up at them with a smug grin.

Andre had never gotten along with them. He had been with the regiment a long time and seemed to envy Athos being given command.

"So you were finished with your business quite quickly then?" The bottom had dropped out of Athos' heart, but he couldn't help but get a dig in.

After scowling at Athos the musketeer went to point his gun at Porthos. There was even less love lost between those two men… In Andre's eyes Porthos was a criminal who should never have been allowed into the regiment.

"I always knew I'd end up chasing you down like a dog, but not Athos and Aramis… I suppose you corrupted them like you tried to corrupt Marius. Yes, I heard every word of it."

"Your little liaison didn't go to plan then? And to think you deserted your post for _that._" Porthos tutted.

"You shut your mouth." Andre walked a bit closer and levelled his pistol at Porthos' head. "_You're_ the treasonous scum here. Lucky I came across your little plot with Marius when I did, I've saved the lad from your malign influence. Aren't you grateful boy?" He shouted at Marius over his shoulder.

"Y… yes sir." He stuttered.

"Creeping around and eavesdropping, that's you all over isn't it Andre? - And he has no command, you don't need to call him 'sir'." Porthos spat at Andre's feet causing him to take a step back.

"And that's just the sort of disgusting behaviour I'd expect from one of you gutter rats. Now get down from your horses."

"We're leaving Andre, and you're not going to stop us." Porthos gave a firm pull on Storm's reins, the horse's head shot out of the trees and he skittered into Andre's path.

The musketeer cursed and quickly backed out of the way. He brushed himself down and regained his composure. "Well if I don't stop you, one of these men will."

On a shrill whistle from Andre a host of guards stepped out of the undergrowth and lined the path behind. Athos felt frozen to the spot as he stared down the barrels of a dozen muskets. Visions of a scaffold and noose flashed before his eyes, and then a voice broke through...

"Athos! Go!" Porthos bellowed.

Athos didn't need telling twice. Adrenaline shot through him like lightning. He dug his heels into Henri and the horse darted off across the bridge, but three more guards blocked the other side with their muskets at the ready. Henri came to a halt and Athos swore as the horse's front legs threatened to rear up. He danced on the spot, wanting to run but not being able to...

Then shots sounded from behind and the clatter of hooves on stone followed. Aramis' horse streaked past, taking flight in fear. Storm seemed a black shadowed beast in the night. He knocked the guards down and kept going. Their way was clear! Henri was eager to follow after his friend and needed no urging to gallop on. Athos held on to Aramis tightly, his heart racing as fast as his horse's hooves. But where was Porthos?! Athos couldn't turn to see, not with Aramis in his arms…

The cold wind whipped Athos' face and brought tears to his eyes as they rode over rolling hills towards the wood. Storm soon outpaced Henri, unburdened as he was. The black shadow disappeared from sight. Still there was no sign of Porthos. Athos listened out for the sound of a horse galloping behind, a lone horse might be Porthos, any more and it meant guards… but there was nothing. A voice at the back of his head told Athos Porthos was dead. Shots were fired… he must have been hit, and he let Aramis' horse go as he fell. But another part of Athos was defiant - Porthos would have let Storm go to draw his own pistol, he would have fought fiercely! He got away… He'll find us.

Athos did not dare to stop until they reached the tree line. Only then did he turn Henri about to look back over the hills… there was nothing but a sea of grass turned grey in the moonlight. No riders, no Porthos… The adrenaline was starting to ebb away now. Athos found himself having to catch his breath and he realised he was shaking slightly. The horse sweated and panted beneath him, they all needed some rest. He had to find the hollow tree - Porthos would meet them there.

Slowly they made their way through the trees, Athos was eager to stay away from any well trodden paths through the woods. It slowed Henri down even more as the horse became more careful with his footing. Twigs and branches snapped beneath his hooves, they cracked like gunshots in the night… _Gunshots_. _Porthos_. It played through Athos' mind over and over. He tried to rake over every detail, but the details eluded him. Adrenaline had Athos very firmly in fight or flight territory, and everything in him screamed out to fly. He had to get Aramis out of there… he thought Porthos would follow across the bridge. But there were shots instead… and the clatter of hooves on stone. Shots and hooves. What was he missing? Shots and hooves… _there had been no yell_. Porthos may not have been hit! But that meant nothing, Porthos could have taken a shot without a word. Adrenaline could keep a man going long after he should have fallen… and Athos was so taken up in his flight he might have missed it. _No_. There were certain sounds that pierced through everything to strike you in the heart. A mother hearing their child cry. A brother shouting in pain… He would have heard it.

Porthos would find them.

Athos brought Henri to a halt as they reached an ancient oak tree. It was half dead and half fallen, but the trunk had a hollow large enough for men to shelter in. Athos slid from the saddle and helped Aramis down before securing Henri and taking his tack off. The hollow was not at all pleasant to bed down in. A layer of dead leaves and other woodland debris had gathered inside. While it was softer to sit on than the hard ground outside, it was damp and there was a certain scent of decay in the air. It would do Aramis no good to stop here. But they would not be here for long... as soon as Porthos arrived they could leave.

Finally having stopped, Athos felt all strength desert him. He pulled Aramis into his arms, sharing body heat and some small sense of comfort. Weariness covered him like a blanket. As Athos blinked heavily and tried to fend off sleep he tried to think of the good things… They had escaped, Aramis was still with them, he hadn't suffered during their flight… and Porthos was coming.


	6. Chapter 6

**Note**: Apologies for the delay in getting this one up! Life is very busy, and I've been scribbling away at another story... A plot bunny punched me in the face. I'm sorry :/

**Chapter Six**

When Athos was dragged from the depths of sleep he found it was light outside, and that threw his mind into chaos - How long had he slept? He didn't mean to sleep! He had to watch, he had to… Where was Porthos?! - Athos' head shot up to look around the hollow. Porthos had not joined them. He settled back down and tried to fend off the disappointment… there was still time. Porthos would come.

Aramis was curled into his side, wheezing slightly. Athos noticed the young musketeer was shivering hard, but at least his temperature was still down. He began to stir as Athos got up.

"Don't leave…" He mumbled, half asleep.

"I won't, I'm just getting something to eat." Athos gave his shoulder a squeeze as he got up and made for the saddle bags.

Outside the air was murky with a slight drizzle they hadn't been able to feel in the hollow. Athos hoped it stayed a drizzle, the hollow wouldn't protect against a downpour and there didn't seem to be any wind to blow it away. On stepping outside Henri raised his head to look at Athos before giving a shake and a snort.

Athos cursed as he dug through the bags, there wasn't much food… it must have been with Porthos. Their belongings were spread between the three horses and they were now down to one. Still, he found a blanket and thankfully the bottles of medication were with them. Athos took out some bread and a couple of biscuits. The biscuits he could ration, but the bread wouldn't be good for much longer.

Settling back down in the hollow Athos wrapped the blanket around Aramis. It had worn thin and was now full of holes, but it was better than nothing.

"Aramis? Can you eat something?" Athos gave the young musketeer a slight shake to rouse him a little more.

He frowned and shook his head.

"You need to eat something, just a little…"

Aramis cracked his eyes open slightly. "Hurts…"

"I've got something that will help with that, but I need you to eat first." Athos broke the bread up and held it out to Aramis.

The young musketeer just frowned again and pushed his arm away.

"Porthos got this for you, you should eat it before it goes stale. He went to a lot of trouble, would you want his efforts wasted?"

That change of tack seemed to work, Aramis held his hand out and took the bread. Though he chewed and swallowed as if it were a difficult task deserving much concentration. Afterwards Athos gave him a sip of the pain tincture and let him rest.

Athos' relief at getting food into Aramis didn't last long. He had just gone outside to stare through the trees for any sign of Porthos when a soft coughing reached his ears. It became harsher and harsher... he rushed back to find Aramis bent over, retching. His good hand formed a shaking fist in the dead leaves. The meagre contents of his stomach joined them in the muck. Athos knelt and put a hand to his back, waiting until he was done. When gasping took the place of retching Athos wiped at Aramis' mouth with a cloth and offered him a drink of water. That was gladly taken at least. Aramis settled back down, his breath came in shallow gasps.

"Try to breathe a little more deeply." Athos suggested. "The physician said you needed to breath deeply."

"Hurts…" Aramis whispered again.

"I can give you a little more of the pain remedy, but we haven't got much, we have to make it last…" Athos couldn't keep the worry from his voice.

Aramis gave a weary nod and tried to take in a deeper breath, it came out as a cough and a wince.

"Alright… just another sip, since you lost the last one." Athos fetched the bottle and then set about checking Aramis' injuries.

His ribs were mottled black and blue as expected, though the gash on his chest was healing nicely. Athos eased Aramis' arm out of his makeshift sling and gave a sympathetic frown. While the scorch mark was clean and on the mend his arm was still swollen and as colourful as everything else.

"Can you move your fingers?"

They gave a slight twitch.

"Can you make a fist?"

Nothing.

"Don't worry, it'll get better once the swelling goes down." He gave Aramis' shoulder a pat and replaced the sling.

Aramis would get better, and Porthos would come.

As if he read Athos' mind Aramis looked searchingly around the hollow. Between noisy breaths he managed to whisper. "Porthos?"

"He'll be back… He's just gone for a while, like he does." Athos couldn't bear to tell Aramis the truth, not while he was like this.

Still, Aramis remained staring at him with a furrowed brow and a look of confusion. Even as ill as he was he could tell something was off.

Athos just looked away. "I'm going to check on the horse, I'll be right outside."

He made a quick escape, Athos couldn't bear to be under that scrutinising gaze a moment longer. True to his word he made his way over to Henri. The horse was happily munching away at all the bits of undergrowth within his reach. Athos ran a gentle hand down Henri's neck before picking up each hoof to check for stones. In the rain he looked a bit of a sorry creature, but he was undeniably a fine horse. Properly groomed Henri would turn a lot of heads. No doubt his former owner was enraged at losing him, the man had probably paid a hefty sum for a horse of this quality. As the rain started coming down a little more heavily the horse shook fiercely, making Athos start. He supposed he should go back to Aramis, but he couldn't help but turn his attention to the trees. The leaves seemed to dance in the rain, and the hiss of the downpour dampened all sound. His mind very nearly drifted away as his clothes soaked through and his hair plastered to his head, but Athos could not see nor hear any approaching rider.

Reluctantly Athos ducked back into the hollow, rain water was starting to reach them now. It was not entirely enclosed. He pulled the blanket up around Aramis and settled down next to him.

"Porthos?" That dreaded question again.

"He'll come."

**~oOo~**

The two musketeers stopped in the hollow through the rest of the day and the next night. Neither man got much sleep. Athos had been woken several times by Aramis' coughing fits, and the next morning he was roused by the young musketeer's violent shivering. Their breath clouded the air… it was getting colder.

The morning had started with drizzle again, but thankfully it ceased after an hour or so. A strange mist gathered through the trees in its wake. Athos stared at it, hoping to find a rider parting the swirling fog, charging up to meet him. Maybe Porthos had got lost. Maybe he was wandering the mist, shouting out their names… Unconsciously Athos took a step forwards before stopping himself. He couldn't leave Aramis to go running through the woods. It was madness. And then a voice at the back of his head told him that they had to move on - stopping here was madness. They had little food and Aramis needed somewhere warm and dry to recover. Still, Athos kept imagining Porthos riding up to the hollow just after they left. He didn't want to leave Porthos behind… he didn't want to entertain the idea Porthos might be dead.

Athos was at war with himself over his two brothers. The ailing Aramis and the missing Porthos. Saving one meant losing the other… but the more he thought about it the more his decision became clear. He must save the brother he had a hope of saving, and that was Aramis. Porthos might not come, he might not be _alive_. But Aramis was... for now. If they lingered much longer he might not be.

With a heavy heart Athos made his decision and prepared to leave.

**~oOo~**

Athos couldn't help but keep an eye out for Porthos as they moved through the trees. But the further away from the hollow they got the more his hopes died. Eventually they made it out of the woods and back to the rolling hills. Weak sunlight lit the scene but it couldn't chase the chill from the air. Athos decided to ride along the tree line for now. No doubt men would have been sent after them and they could dive into the cover of the woods if any caught up.

Time ticked by as they trudged on, even Henri walked with his nose nearly touching the ground. Athos worried as he felt Aramis' hitched breath beneath his hand, though he felt like death warmed up himself. Having eaten so little there was a weariness that had crept into his bones. Athos wanted to sleep and never wake again.

Eventually he spotted a small cottage on the horizon, and he was pleased to note it was surrounded by a few outbuildings. Although there was a trail of smoke coming from the chimney and a soft light flickered at one of the windows... Somebody was in, but Athos didn't care. The place could be full of the cardinal's men and it wouldn't matter, he needed to rest, and he needed to get Aramis somewhere warm and dry.

Athos dismounted and led Henri around the outbuildings, Aramis held on to the saddle, wobbling dangerously. One of the buildings held chickens, he found goats in another... finally he came across a rickety barn with a couple of stalls occupied by an old pony and a donkey. It was empty otherwise, and there was a large pile of straw that looked quite welcoming. Athos led Henri inside and helped Aramis down, as he settled the young musketeer into the straw Henri wandered over to investigate the pony. Athos looked up and cursed, knowing what was about to happen. Their noses touched and Henri gave a dramatic high pitched squeal, lashing out with his front hooves.

Athos rushed over and pulled the horse away, tying him up across the other side of the barn. He desperately hoped whoever was in the cottage hadn't heard. A horse squeal could be quite piercing. They stood quietly… waiting, but nobody came and so Athos thought it safe enough to un-tack. He didn't want to have to make a dash without a saddle on… Aramis was already asleep when Athos crashed down in the straw beside him. Athos closed his eyes and gave in to the exhaustion, he was dead to the world moments later.

**~oOo~**

Athos thought he was still dreaming when his eyes flickered open to stare down the barrel of a musket. He half expected to find Porthos standing by, he must have been reliving that moment at the bridge…

"Get up." A voice demanded.

But it wasn't the voice of a guard, it was the voice of an old woman… Athos was fully awake now. She stood standing over them, a bonnet on her head and a musket in her hands. She must have been in her sixties.

"What are you doing in my barn?" The woman asked.

"We mean no harm… we just needed a place to rest." Athos' voice was laced with weary resignation. As far as he was concerned the blasted woman could just shoot him and put an end to it. He was tired of this endless running and scraping by.

By his side Aramis gave a slight moan and Athos sighed. If he couldn't go on for himself he had to go on for Aramis. He tried again:

"Please… my friend is sick, we just needed somewhere warm and dry. We'll be on our way."

As if on cue Aramis started coughing and rolled over to retch in the straw, though he had nothing to bring up.

The woman lowered her gun and a more sympathetic look took her face. "Well, you'll rest better in a bed. It just so happens I have a couple going spare. Bring him inside."

Athos could have collapsed with relief. He was expecting to be on the run again, but here was somebody kind enough to take them in… it was a miracle. She clearly hadn't heard of the infamous rogue musketeers. After getting Aramis to sit up, Athos helped him to his feet and let the young musketeer lean against him. Slowly they followed the lady to her door.

The cottage was small and cosy, a fire roared in the hearth and a dog lay stretched out in front of it. A German Shepherd type, she raised her head and gave a slight growl as they passed by.

"Oh don't mind Laika, she just likes to look after me. She's harmless really."

Athos raised an eyebrow and pulled Aramis' arm a little tighter over his shoulder. Those teeth didn't seem harmless. The lady led them towards a room with a bed that looked as if it hadn't been slept in in a long time. Athos got Aramis seated on the edge and proceeded to strip him down and pull off his boots.

"Your names gentlemen?"

"Athos, and this is Aramis." He was so tired his mouth had just blurted out their names without thinking. Athos looked up at the woman, but found no hint of recognition. It was probably safe enough. Besides, it was quite nice to be himself once again.

"My name is Tilda. There's a room next door if you'd like to get a bit of rest yourself."

The thought of a bed sounded glorious, but he really didn't want to leave Aramis by himself. "Thank you Tilda, but I should be here…"

"I can watch over him. Don't worry, my children might all be gone now but I nursed plenty of babes through their sickness. He'll be no different."

Athos wanted to fight, he wanted to insist. It was the honourable thing to do… but he was just so _tired_.

As if giving him no choice in the matter Tilda pointedly took a seat by the bed. Athos went on to settle a wheezing Aramis under the covers.

"Wake me if you need to. He suffered some injuries and might be in a little pain." Athos pulled the two bottles from their bag and left them on the bedside table. "This is to ease his fever and this is to ease his pain. But use them sparingly, it's all we have."

"Like I said - I've done a bit of nursing. I'm sure I can make you something up, I keep a well stocked larder for the winter." She leaned forwards to bat at Athos's arm as he lingered and fussed around Aramis. "Now go and get some rest, you look fit to fall over. When you wake I'll boil some water, you could do with a wash as well as something to eat."

"Thank you-"

Tilda waved her hand at him. "Go! Get out before I chase you out."

And with that he fled.

**~oOo~**

When next he woke countless hours had passed. Athos simply lay staring at the ceiling, letting warmth seep into his bones. It had been such a long time since he had slept in a bed. He could almost fool himself into thinking this was all a bad dream. He would simply throw the covers back, put on his uniform and go down to the garrison. There he would find Aramis, Porthos and d'Artagnan, all alive and well. Treville would give them their day's work… it was business as usual.

But Athos knew this wasn't his room. His room was basic and spartan, this one held years of memories and keepsakes, from the patchwork quilt over his bed to the beautiful watercolour paintings adorning the walls. He was intruding here... If he got out of bed there wasn't much of a uniform left to put on. There was no garrison to go to - he would be dead before he ever set foot there again. Worst of all were his brothers… all lost to him save for Aramis. Why should he get up? _For Aramis_… a voice at the back of Athos' head answered. This was all for Aramis after all. Their flight and everything lost along the way…_ for Aramis_. Athos supposed he should hate the man, but he didn't. One moment of indiscretion had damned them all, but Athos couldn't kindle hatred in his heart any longer. His mind only went over the might have beens… If only he had kept a tighter rein on Aramis. If only he had sent Aramis back to the garrison and kept Porthos with him at the convent instead. How different things might have been.

But who was to say Aramis wouldn't have found another way to bed the queen? Fate was a strange thing… what is is what must be. Still, fate was a cruel mistress to devastate so many lives in exchange for one… One life that was over before it began. The child barely tasted life's breath before being taken. How was that fair? But life was not fair, Athos knew that much… he would still have a brother if it was.

Athos wiped at his eyes, and pushed back the covers. He felt like he was breaking down in this bed… it seemed like pieces of him had fallen away on the road and here he would finally fall apart. If he could gather enough of himself to get up and keep moving the rest of him might hold together. Keep moving, that was the key. Sleep had done Athos the world of good but there was still a bone deep weariness that couldn't be shaken off. He supposed it came with little food, little rest, and a sword hanging over your head at all times.

Slowly Athos dressed and made his way to Aramis. Tilda still sat by him. She was sewing and singing a lilting song, though she stopped abruptly at seeing Athos in the doorway.

"Has he woken?" Athos scrubbed a hand through his hair as he looked to the still form of his friend in the bed.

"Not really… He has spoken, but I don't think he knows what he's saying." Tilda resumed her sewing before nonchalantly asking a question. "Did he have a child? He spoke of a son."

Athos let out a long breath, considering his answer. "He did… for a short while. The child did not survive long after birth."

There was no reason not to tell the truth, she had their names already, the damage was done.

"Oh, the poor dear…" Tilda looked over at Aramis sympathetically.

"We were away at the time… He never got to see the boy, let alone hold him."

"It is truly a terrible thing to lose a child. But his son is in a better place now. Sometimes it is best for a gentle soul not know the cruelty of this world…"

And how much cruelty would that child have known? He was going to be king of France. That was the part he couldn't tell Tilda. A nation would rise and fall on his strength or weakness. Countless men would lay their lives at his feet, he would walk with bloodied footsteps… Is it better to leave such a life unlived? It was not for Athos to say, he was done with standing in judgement on matters of life and death. Fate had intervened and brought the dead back to life when last he tried.

Tilda put down her sewing and pushed Athos towards the chair she vacated. "Let me get you something to eat, and I'll ready some hot water too."

"Thank you, you're being too kind." Athos sat down heavily.

"Nonsense, you're no trouble at all. I'm quite enjoying the company."

"We're better company when we're both awake I can assure you."

At that Tilda swept away with a quiet laugh.

Athos leant forwards to rest his elbows on the bed and study his friend. Aramis had dark circles beneath his eyes, his face was pale, and his breathing still rasped horribly. Though Athos reached out a hand to check the young musketeer's temperature and was pleased to find it quite normal, he was also pleased to find Aramis watching him with half lidded eyes.

"Awake at last." Athos forced a smile to his features. "How are you feeling?"

Aramis licked his dry lips and spoke hoarsely. "Like I'm drowning."

"It's just your chest, the infection is passing, it'll get better… Does anything hurt?"

Closing his eyes Aramis frowned as if trying to catalogue his pains. "Everything."

"Alright, have a sip of this." Athos helped him drink a little of the pain draught. "Tilda is making something to eat, I'd like you to try a bit. It'll help."

"Who's Tilda?" Aramis blinked heavily and looked around the room, taking it in for the first time. "And where are we?"

"We are in Tilda's house, and Tilda is the kind old lady who threatened to shoot us in her barn."

"Oh…" Aramis spoke as if it was quite a normal thing to happen. Then he frowned again and fixed his eyes on Athos. "Where's Porthos?"

Athos sat back and stared at the space between them. What could he say? Aramis seemed alert and lucid now, he wouldn't be palmed off with a half truth, and he had to be told sooner or later.

"Porthos was... left behind." Athos spoke slowly and cursed at himself, he should have thought how he would break this news.

Aramis' gaze narrowed. "What do you mean?"

"We tried to escape over a bridge but guards and musketeers stopped us. I was riding with you in my arms and Porthos shouted to go… I thought he would follow. There were shots fired, but I couldn't look back. I don't know if he…" Athos scrubbed a hand over his face and sighed. "I didn't hear him shout, he might not have been hit."

"So... he's either dead or caught?" Aramis' eyes were shining now.

"I don't know."

"You don't know?" The young musketeer took in a harsh breath and coughed. "How can you not know? Why didn't you stand and fight? Why didn't you help him?"

The sudden onslaught of questions put Athos on the defensive. "I had you to look after! I had no choice. We were outnumbered... If you haven't noticed we've been running rather than standing and fighting of late."

"All for one and…" Aramis was starting to wheeze again, he broke off to cough harshly. "... one for all Athos!"

"Don't shout, you'll make yourself…"

But it was too late, Aramis bent forwards and wrapped an arm around his ribs as he began to cough and choke. Wordlessly Athos pressed a cloth into his hands and Aramis put it to his mouth, spitting up mucus between each gasp for breath.

When his breathing settled down Aramis fixed Athos with a glare, though it was ruined somewhat by the presence of tears in his eyes. "Leave me alone."

With those three words Athos felt a knife to his heart. He opened his mouth, wanting to say something… but what could he possibly say? With a slight nod he got to his feet and left.

**~oOo~**

As he dragged his feet away from Aramis' room Athos found there was a delicious smell coming from the kitchen. As soon as he stepped in Tilda pointed out a basin in the corner.

"I've warmed some water if you'd like a wash."

"Thank you…" He muttered sullenly.

"If you want to take your shirt off I won't look, though I can assure you I've seen it all before." Tilda spoke brightly, ignoring his tone.

Athos remained quiet, he shucked off his shirt and let it drop to the floor. As he did so every ache in his body seemed to flare up, although it was nothing compared to the ache in his heart. He felt suddenly ashamed… This woman had been kind enough to take them in. Tilda had not asked for any of this and nobody would have blamed her for shooting at them. Could he not offer her a smile or a warm word? No… he could not. Athos felt the weight on his shoulders so keenly, it took all he had to raise his head and put one foot in front of the other. Smiles and warmth were not for him. They never really had been… not since_ that woman_ devastated his life anyway. There was a time when Athos lived without care, a time he had even been known to laugh… but it seemed so distant, like a far off half remembered dream. Misery seemed to stalk him. It was a constant shadow at his shoulder, and now it had caught up to dig its claws in deep.

A small mirror and a cloth sat by the basin. Athos took the cloth but he hardly dared to look at his reflection… There was a filthy, gaunt face staring back that he didn't recognise. Athos looked away and dipped the cloth into the warm water. It was wonderfully soothing, but he couldn't take pleasure in it. Athos wiped at his cheek first, he felt his eyes reluctantly drawn to the mirror. And every brush of cloth against skin left a clean streak in its wake. He watched, mesmerised, as layers of ingrained dirt washed away. But that wasn't all he lost. Layers of sadness, hurt and pain fell away as a face Athos seemed to remember knowing appeared on that shining surface. The man looking back was from a different time. It was like living in eternal winter while being granted a glimpse of a summer fondly remembered. The warmth was gone. Just as the water he washed with cooled against his skin.

Athos finished washing and went to sit at the dining table. Tilda wordlessly set down a bowl of broth in front of him. He tried not to set upon the broth like a starved dog, but his hunger could not be hidden. Tilda raised an eyebrow and went to stir the pot. After a few harried mouthfuls Athos supposed he was being impolite and something of his old self shone through. He slowed his hand and thought to make conversation between mouthfuls.

"Do you live here alone Tilda?"

"Yes, my children have all grown and left, and my husband died some years ago, God rest his soul."

"I'm sorry to hear that… It seems quite isolated here, do you not get lonely?"

"I've gotten used to it, besides, I've got my Laika."

At hearing her name the dog pricked her ears and came over. She gave one of Athos' hands a delicate sniff and then set her head down on his lap. Taking it as an invitation the musketeer set about stroking her head and scratching behind her ears. A pleased groaning soon followed after.

"Does anybody else live nearby?" As well as making polite conversation it would be useful information to know tactically speaking.

"Not any more. There were a few farms in the area but when the landowners demanded more money the farmers moved away. It killed our little community…" There was a sadness to Tilda's voice as she spoke, and Athos inwardly cursed himself for raking up bad memories. "... more and more left until it was just us, and then me. But I won't be moved. If you haven't learnt already, I can be quite stubborn."

"How do you get by alone?" Athos couldn't help but ask.

"I manage… Nature is plentiful if you know where to look." The shadow passed from her brow and Tilda fixed a curious eye on Athos. "Anyway, enough about me, how did two dishevelled young men come to be wandering out in the middle of nowhere?"

Athos nearly choked on his next spoonful of broth. He was going to have to come up with a good story, and fast. "Aramis is my younger brother, we were on the road intending to visit family when we were set upon by bandits. They took all we had and Aramis was injured falling from his startled horse… We fled into the woods but not knowing the area we quickly became lost."

"Oh my dear, you have been through a lot haven't you?" Tilda gave him a knowing look. "Yet I have not seen a man suffer such chafed wrists falling from a horse."

"The bandits tied him up while they sifted through our belongings." Oh what a tangled web we weave when first we practice to deceive…

"It was fortunate they saw fit to restrain the injured brother and leave you free…"

"Quite, I would not have been able to free Aramis and escape otherwise."

"How foolish these bandits must have been." Tilda spoke as if she didn't believe a word of it.

"You often find such men have more courage than brains."

"You encounter bandits often then?"

Athos felt like he was fencing with words, and Tilda was proving to be a skilled opponent. "We spend a lot of time on the road in our line of work."

He could almost imagine the rest of their conversation… _'And what line of work would that be?' 'Oh you see we're musketeers, and we're actually on the run because Aramis was foolish enough to bed the queen and the cardinal found out. By the way, you know that son of his? He would have been the king of France'_... It seemed quite absurd when put like that. Athos was almost tempted to tell her the truth, sure that she wouldn't believe such a far fetched story.

Tilda gave him a smile, and turned away from asking the obvious question. "Wherever you come from, whatever you've done, it doesn't matter to me. I feel you are good men, and that's all that matters. If you were not good men I would have shot you in the barn and left you for the crows."

"Then we are fortunate you are such a good judge of character Madame." Athos felt they had put up their swords and declared their verbal sparring match a draw.

Tilda turned her attention back to the stove and poured out another bowl.

"Now you've finished you can go and give this to your brother." She set the bowl down in front of him. "Come and find me afterwards, you can earn your keep and help me with the animals."

Athos simply stared at the broth recalling Aramis' last words… _Leave me alone_… "I don't think he wants to see me right now."

"Did a few harsh words pass between you? I heard raised voices." Tilda gave him a sympathetic look.

"Something like that…"

"Well if there's one thing I've learnt from raising boys it's that your mouth rarely says what your heart truly feels. Those words are as insubstantial as the air they passed through. Go and see him, or I'll have to, and I won't be as gentle." She spoke with a twinkle in her eye.

At that Athos took his hand from Laika's head and reached for the bowl. The dog whined as he ceased playing with her ears.

"Thank you Tilda."

"So you keep saying - now go!" She waved her hands at him and Athos took to his feet.

When he came to Aramis' door he paused and took in a deep breath. Out here there was a kind old lady, a warm fire and a friendly dog. Through that door was another world, one filled with bitterness and sorrow… Porthos was gone.


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

These past days had been a blur to Aramis. Unconscious, half conscious, shivering and sweating… he had no idea what was happening out there. When rational thought surfaced he often wondered if he was dying. There was so much pain... but worst of all he couldn't breathe. That simple action we all take for granted suddenly became a battle, and Aramis wasn't sure he could fight it any longer. The young musketeer felt like he was drowning on dry land, but something kept him going… Porthos and Athos, they had not left him, and he would not leave them. They kept him dragging in breath after breath, even when the pain of his ribs urged him to still his lungs, he defied it. The choking it brought on was agony. And once or twice when Aramis' vision sparked and his breath wouldn't come he_ knew_ he was dying… but a hand at his back and a whisper at his ear seemed to pull him through. They couldn't quite fend off the fever borne nightmares though. Through hazy eyes Aramis saw blood stained snow, and on more than one occasion he woke to find a grey faced Marsac standing over him. The dead of Savoy grasped him with rigid, cold hands. He was sure they would drag him down to hell…

And maybe he deserved it.

But now he woke, feeling clear headed for the first time in a long time, and he was greeted with the news that Porthos was dead. Athos was still in denial, he wouldn't say what they both knew… Porthos was dead… whether by musket ball or the hangman's noose, he was dead. And the young musketeer's first thought was that they should have died together. He felt a piece of himself had been cut away. And grief gave rise to bitterness and anger. They _never_ left a man behind. Aramis found himself lashing out at Athos, blaming him for Porthos… He couldn't stand to have the man there.

When Athos left, Aramis stared at the ceiling, letting tears gather in his eyes and run to stain the bedclothes. His chest seized when he tried to sob, so Aramis had to tame his breathing into hitched breaths. Although it was tempting to just let go… let his lungs struggle and cease, drift away… But there was the memory of a hand at his back, urging him to keep breathing._ Athos_. And the more he thought the more guilty he felt. This was all his fault after all, they would still be at the garrison doing their duty if it wasn't for him… and Aramis knew the chaos of battle, how could he blame Athos for a split second decision when one of his own had led to all of this?

Some time later the door creaked open and Athos slipped in with a bowl of broth. Their eyes met only briefly before Athos set it down on his bedside table.

"Do you want help sitting up?" Athos kept his voice even.

Aramis tried pushing himself up with his good arm, but the pain flared from his broken ribs and it only took one sharply inhaled breath before Athos' hands were there supporting him.

"Shall I…" Athos left the question unfinished as he went to sit down and hold up the bowl.

"No, let me try." Aramis indicated a space on his lap and Athos set the bowl down. The young musketeer stared at it for a moment before raising the spoon to his lips.

Athos said nothing more. He was content to sit in silence, it was his way after all. He could probably go on pretending not a bad word had passed between them, but Aramis felt it hanging over their heads as oppressive as a storm cloud.

"I'm sorry…" Aramis had only to breach the dam with those two words, and the rest followed quickly after. "I should not blame you. How can I blame you after everything? You did what you had to, and doubtlessly Porthos did what he had to. I just couldn't bear losing him… I've lost so much already, my home, my love, my child… I can't keep losing things Athos."

Athos was quiet for a moment before he met Aramis' eyes. "You've still got me."

"And I pushed you away… I'm sorry Athos, I'm so sorry. You have lost so much as well, and all on my account. I owe you my life ten times over and look how I treat you… I'm sorry." Aramis felt suddenly weak and breathless. "I'm sorry… Athos, I'm sorry."

He wanted to say so much more, but that one word was all that came out between laboured breaths.

"I know you are." Athos leaned forwards to put a hand on his arm. "And I forgive you. You hear me? I forgive you everything. You're right, I have lost much, but I still have something left... We have each other. Porthos would want us to keep going. We have to stay strong."

Aramis managed a slight smile. "For Porthos."

Athos returned it with a rare smile of his own. "For Porthos."

The young musketeer raised the spoon with a shaking hand and kept eating. Being forgiven he suddenly felt cleansed, as if he had walked from confession after being absolved of his sins. Though he didn't feel like eating much he tried his best to finish the bowl off, he had to get strong again. He was filled with a new sense of purpose. They had to keep going… to Spain, perhaps beyond. This wasn't the end.

Feeling the dark cloud hanging over them disperse Aramis raised an eyebrow at Athos. "You're looking a little more… pristine."

"Yes, well I've had a wash. I'll get some water warmed for you once you've finished that. Then you can spend the rest of the day resting, I'm afraid I'll be spending the rest of the day mucking out…"

"You won't be staying pristine for long then."

"I don't suppose I will." Athos let out an amused sigh.

Once Aramis finished his broth Athos helped him limp to the dining table where he played with Laika while he waited for some water to warm up. The young musketeer really wanted to wash himself, but standing at the basin for long wasn't on the cards, so Athos placed a chair down next to it and gave him a hand. His bruised arm sat uselessly in his lap.

"I feel like a child being scrubbed at by his mother…" Aramis muttered as he tried to grab for the cloth Athos wielded mercilessly.

"I'm not your mother, but you are being a child… Let me help."

Aramis reluctantly gave in to Athos' ministrations. In truth it was easier - not that he would admit that - just taking his shirt off had been painful enough, trying to wash around his injuries would have been no better.

They were just finishing when Tilda bustled back in.

"Oh heavens no, don't put that back on him!"

Athos paused with Aramis' shirt in his hand.

"It's more a rag than a shirt. I think my son left some clothes behind on his last visit, you're roughly the same size. Let me go and fetch a fresh shirt. Athos, you can have one too once you've finished with the animals. Oh and your horse is making a bit of a racket out there."

"I'd better go and settle him down…" Athos dropped the shirt and made for the door.

When he was clothed Aramis went limping after him. Athos would probably tell him to stay put, but he was never one to take inactivity well. The young musketeer found Athos in the barn holding on to Henri, stroking down his neck while speaking softly. The horse had his head high in the air, ears to attention, and every few moments he would let out an ear splitting neigh.

Aramis was just about to ask who he could be calling for when an answering whinny sounded in the distance. Henri got all the more excited and called out again. Soon after the sound of hooves flying along grass reached them.

"Storm!" Aramis shouted as his horse came charging up. Of course, it was really d'Artagnan's but after all this time he had become quite fond of the gelding.

Storm slowed to a trot and dashed straight past Aramis into the barn. He went to sniff at Henri and the two horses soon settled into grooming each other. Aramis came over to check his horse. Storm looked a little worse for wear, ragged, with his saddle slipped to one side and his reins snapped. But thankfully he seemed to be unharmed. It brought a spark of hope to Aramis' heart seeing that something thought lost could return to him.

Athos secured Henri and went to take Storm. "Wonders never cease… we thought you long gone lad."

Aramis longed to untack and groom his horse. It was instilled in him from a young age that you always took care of your horse before yourself, but this burst of activity had taken what energy he had. The young musketeer suddenly felt light headed and stumbled a step.

At this Athos frowned. "Go back inside and rest Aramis. I'll take care of him."

He would normally argue and protest he was perfectly capable… but it was clearly untrue. Aramis' body was begging him to lie down. So slowly he went to limp back inside. The journey back to bed seemed to take ten times longer than his journey outside. When he finally reached it he found Tilda had changed the sheets. It was quite pleasant climbing into a fresh bed free from the air of his illness. Although his sickness had for the most part passed, it still lingered with tendrils of weakness and wheezing… Aramis was dead to the world the moment his head touched the pillow.

**~oOo~**

Later that evening the three of them sat around the fire with Laika. They listened to Tilda tell stories of her younger days. They were happier days, when the house was filled with children and laughter. In turn the two musketeers spoke of their exploits... as much as it was safe to do so. They thanked her profusely for her kindness. Tilda had fed and clothed them, she even found some spare reins for Storm. Athos was about to protest when Tilda started putting a few bits together for their journey, he didn't want to leave her without, but she would hear nothing of it. Tilda gathered together warm clothes and food that would keep.

The next day saw Athos up bright and early, it seemed he wanted to repay Tilda's kindness. He set about feeding the animals and making a few repairs. It was a loud hammering noise coming from outside that woke Aramis. For a confused moment his sleep addled mind perceived gunshots, he lay back relieved on realising what it really was. Taking a few experimental deep breaths Aramis winced as a familiar pain flared along his ribs. He managed to shuffle himself upright and took a sip from the pain tincture on his bedside table. It spread a strange sense of warmth through him that muted all the aches and pains. It couldn't stop the coughing though. Aramis gave a few harsh barking coughs before resting against the headboard… It still hurt to some degree, but at least he hadn't brought anything up.

Aramis sat quietly and looked around the room. It was small and cosy, though a layer of dust had gathered on all the surfaces. It clung stubbornly to the coarse fur of a teddy sitting on the chest of drawers opposite. Carved wooden animals stood by him like soldiers all in a row. Aramis got to his feet and walked over gingerly for a closer look. The first he picked up was a fox. He brushed away the dust to find it was painted bright orange and white, though time had leached some of the colour away. A lot of care had gone into making it. The surface was sanded smooth and its features were carefully etched. There was also a rabbit and a dog… or maybe a wolf. At the end stood a hawk, its wings spread wide and proud… but no, there was another. It had toppled over so Aramis nearly missed it. The figure was painted entirely black. He picked it up to set it right and found it was a little horse.

Suddenly a feeling of sorrow took the young musketeer… These had been carved by a caring hand. Perhaps they were made by a father for his son. He would have done the same for his own. Aramis imagined himself sitting beneath the shade of a tree whittling a toy horse for a child he would never know.

"It looks rather like your horse doesn't it?" Tilda's voice coming from the doorway made him jump. He hadn't realised she was standing there watching.

"He's not mine, not really… I'm just looking after him for a friend." Aramis went to set the horse back down.

"My husband made them, he was always good with his hands... You can keep it if you like."

"Oh I couldn't. Not if your-"

Tilda cut him off. "It's seeing no use here, other than gathering dust." She gave him a warm smile. "You'll just be looking after it for a friend."

Aramis took the little figure back up and closed his fist about it. "I'll take good care of him."

"Now come on, you're missing breakfast."

Tilda turned away and made for the kitchen. After putting the little horse away in his bag Aramis followed at a slower pace. His leg was still tender to walk on. He found Athos polishing off his plate, seemingly eager to get back to work. He also seemed eager to leave.

"Do you think you will be able to ride later?"

Aramis winced as he sat down. "Well, I have at least one hand for the reins. I might manage an easy pace."

"Good. We should move on…" Athos eyed Tilda carefully. "Our family will be worrying about us."

"Quite." Aramis took in a careful breath. He really didn't like the thought of riding. "Could we not set out tomorrow morning?"

The young musketeer watched a brief conflict pass over Athos' face.

"One last night in a soft bed, that's all I ask." Aramis pressed.

Athos was slow in his answer. "Alright… I'll get everything ready now, but we must away at first light tomorrow. We cannot linger." His eyes drifted to the old lady bustling about the kitchen. "Besides, we cannot impose ourselves on Tilda for much longer."

That caught her attention. "Oh my dear, you are no trouble at all. As I've said before - I'm quite enjoying the company. And you're getting a fair few jobs done I haven't been able to do. I'm not as young as I used to be."

"Really Tilda, we'll eat you out of house and home if you let us."

"Who said anything about letting you?" Tilda gave wry smile.

"Right, I'd better finish repairing the fence before Tilda comes after me." Athos made to leave the table.

"I'd be the very worst of your enemies young man!" She shouted as he went out of the door feigning a desperate dash.

**~oOo~**

After finishing his own breakfast Aramis went to doze in front of the fireplace. The warmth and gentle crackling lulled him away, and then Laika joined him. She put her head on the young musketeer's lap and insisted on being stroked. The rhythmical motion and soft fur sent him even deeper into sleep. He imagined soft skin and warm arms. There was no crackling fire, just a gentle whisper of lips at his ear before they found his own. That hazy vision was ripped away violently in a hale of gunfire, Aramis swore he heard Porthos shout _"Go!"_ before he was shocked back into the waking world.

The fire was burning low... Aramis frowned at finding his hand hanging in thin air. Laika had gone. Everything was quiet but for a fierce growling. Slowly Aramis turned his head to find Laika snarling with her nose pointed at the door. Moments later Athos burst through, his eyes wide and frantic.

"Riders are coming! We have to go!"

Suddenly Aramis was thrust back in time to that fateful night when Athos came knocking at his door, two terrible words on his lips… _They know_.

Athos ran about, grabbing bags amidst a stream of harried words. Aramis froze. His breath caught in his throat and his thoughts were like treacle. He knew he had to do something, but his limbs just wouldn't seem to work.

"Aramis! Get up! You have to get up _now_!"

He wanted to. His legs just wouldn't obey.

And then Athos was there in front of him, crouching down, placing a hand on his knee.

"Aramis, we have no time, we have to go…" The hand shifted to take a grip on his good arm and moments later Aramis was on his feet.

The deafening maelstrom seemed to fade away as he heard a heavy set of boots hit the ground outside. A voice filtered through the door._ "Leon, check the buildings. Mathieu, go around the back."_

A hefty knock came at the door, and for a moment all three of them looked at each other, breath caught in their throats.

Tilda was the first to make a move. "Go out the back door, I'll stall this fellow."

"You can't…" Athos started, but Tilda interrupted.

"I can! This is my house! I'll not have these brutes knocking at my door and traipsing around my property like they own it. Go!"

The knock came again, heavier and a little more furious.

Athos paused, seemingly about to object, but then he thought better of it and dragged Aramis to the back door. He put down their bags for a moment and took out his pistol. They knew to expect Mathieu…

On hearing footsteps crunch on the ground outside Athos opened the door a crack and stopped behind it. Curiosity led the man to push it open, and when he stepped inside he met the butt of Athos' pistol. Mathieu dropped to the ground, senseless, and Athos let out a stream of curses at seeing his strikingly familiar uniform. The Red Guard had caught up to them.

As Athos was picking their bags up again he heard Tilda open the front door and a gruff voice rang out.

"Madame, I am sorry to interrupt you like this, but we are in pursuit of two criminals and have reason to believe they passed this way. Have you seen them?"

"Oh gracious, how terrible… No, I have not seen anybody. It is always quiet around here."

"How strange, I thought I saw a man outside as we approached… Might I step inside and have a look around?"

Athos didn't stop to listen further. He stepped around the fallen guard and motioned for Aramis to follow. Burdened by their bags as he was Athos couldn't help Aramis along, and so the young musketeer followed as quickly as he was able. Adrenaline was helping to mask his pains at any rate. There was still a guard searching the outbuildings and so the two men were on alert as they made their way to the barn. Aramis felt he could dart off like a deer if they were spotted.

Luckily the barn was not far from the cottage. As they reached it a sudden squawk of chickens told them where Leon was. They just needed enough time to ready the horses…

"Stop by the door, tell me if he approaches". Athos' voice was short and clipped. The soldier in him had taken over.

So while Athos set about tacking up the horses Aramis settled by the door, watching through the narrow crack where it was hinged. His heart thundered in his chest and it took far too much concentration to keep his breathing even. After a few moments Aramis realised his legs were starting to shake, so he sank down to the ground and leaned against the door.

Athos shot him a concerned glance.

"I'm alright… I'm fine…" Aramis managed between heavy breaths.

And then a loud barking came from the cottage. It ceased just as a yell rent the air.

"Athos… _Tilda_…" It sounded as if the guard had muscled his way in. "... she needs help".

Athos was quiet but for the swearing as his fingers worked frantically at Henri's girth.

"You have to help her." Aramis tried again.

"I have to get us out of here!" Athos whirled around with a muted shout.

"She helped us Athos… it is the honourable thing to do."

That word seemed to set a light in his eyes.

"Alright." Athos took up his pistol and brought it over to Aramis. "If you see that guard approach, shoot him. If I don't come back…"

"You're coming back." Aramis levelled a pointed look at Athos as he took the gun.

The musketeer just gave a firm nod and he went to check the way was clear. Aramis was left with the sound of Athos' retreating footsteps and the firm, familiar weight of the gun in his lap. Though Athos' absence set his heart racing anew, the pistol was almost comforting. He slipped his finger around the trigger and looked through the crack, carefully watching for any sign of movement. Aramis whispered prayers beneath his breath, desperately hoping for Athos to return before the guard made his way over.

But Aramis was rarely so lucky.

The young musketeer inhaled suddenly as Leon stepped from the building across the yard. The guard stooped momentarily to brush some feathers from his boots, and then he straightened, setting his eye on the barn. Aramis' grip tightened on the pistol, his whole body felt as taught as a violin string nearing breaking point. The young musketeer shuffled to the edge of the door and waited. With his back to the thick wood he couldn't see Leon any more and he would only get one chance at this… He closed his eyes, trying to listen to the guard's footsteps, trying to gauge how close he would need to be for an accurate shot.

He couldn't miss.

Footsteps entwined with the sound of his own frantic heartbeat in his ears. Aramis shuddered in a breath and raised the pistol. A tremor ran through his hand, betraying him and shattering his confidence. Aramis had done this hundreds of times… thousands of times - The sure and steady raising of a pistol, a brief moment to aim, a squeeze, and then a bang - It happened without thought, the gun felt a part of him. He shot as easily as he scratched his nose. But today, here and now, his shaking hand held something strange… Doubt ran through him. Aramis was suddenly unsure of his distances, and as any soldier knows, that first moment of doubt is always deadly.

Aramis made his decision - Three more footsteps and he would shoot. But he wasn't sure, was that two? Was it three? He would shoot. He had to shoot. He was made for this.

The young musketeer took in a sudden breath and leaned around the door, revealing himself. He caught the look of alarm on Leon's face before squeezing the trigger. The sudden crack of a gunshot rang out… But alarm turned to relief, and a cruel smile twisted the guard's lips. Aramis' shot had sailed past his ear. Leon ran forwards as Aramis fumbled with the pistol, trying in vain to load another ball. He wouldn't be able to do it in time, but as his mind reeled his hands fell back on old habits. Aramis reached for a ball even as he tried to hold the gun with fingers that barely worked.

And then there was a boot flying towards his face. The gun fell from his hands and Aramis' vision sparked wildly through the pain. He scrambled backwards, trying desperately to gain his feet, but a vicious hand in his hair held him back. As the world seemed to settle the young musketeer perceived the tip of a dagger at his throat. The guard moved in uncomfortably close and pinned Aramis down.

"Can you run now musketeer? I think not…" Leon lowered his lips to whisper in his ear. "I think not."

The man's fetid breath was vile. It almost set Aramis off choking again. And then the hand in his hair was gone, it went to grip his bruised arm and the young musketeer couldn't help but cry out as his injured limb was wrenched behind his back. The guard rolled him over on to his front, the sudden pressure on his ribs made Aramis wince and gasp for breath. He came to realise the metallic taste in his mouth was blood…

"Look at the state of you. Do you really think you could escape justice, musketeer?" Leon spat and it landed inches away in the dirt beside Aramis' face. "The cardinal will be pleased that we found you. That old dog Treville was sure he'd get his runaways first."

Aramis felt something tighten around his wrists, a belt perhaps.

"Took you… long enough…" He gritted out between his teeth.

That earned the young musketeer a cuff about the head.

"You went down easier than that other one. We had a lot of fun with him I tell you". Leon leaned in to whisper at Aramis' ear again. "A _lot_ of fun".

Aramis growled and bucked in vain. The guard tightened his hold.

There was at least one small spark of hope in those cruel words… Porthos had been taken _alive_.

"There wasn't much left to send off to the hangman, but he still has a neck to put a noose around." Leon's voice went on, violatingly intimate in its closeness. "We'll have our fun with you too". He ran one hand down Aramis' side, lingering over his tender ribs. It pulled a slight moan from the young musketeer. "Shame you're so damaged already... I like to break men down and the job is half done for me. Still, I'll see how long it takes before you're begging for death. There's always sport in that."

And then another voice cut in. "Speaking of begging, I suggest you start now."

Athos!

Leon got to his feet rather abruptly, and Aramis tried to twist around to see what was happening. With his face in the dirt and his arms tied behind his back he didn't get very far.

"I would rather die than beg before a musketeer - a disgraced one no less!"

"As you wish". Athos' voice was so calm it was unsettling.

There was a short, sharp cry and then Leon's body dropped to the ground beside Aramis. Their faces were inches apart. The young musketeer watched the guard's wide eyes glaze over as his breath ceased and death claimed his soul. A pool of blood started spreading from Leon's chest to stain the dirt a dark red. It seeped out, closer and closer...

Athos worked to undo his bindings, but Aramis was transfixed by those hollow, staring eyes.

"Are you alright?"

Athos voice seemed to come from far away. There was nothing Aramis could see but grey, dead eyes.

"Aramis?"

The ravens would come. It was only a matter of time.

"Answer me, dammit!"

Staring eyes would not stare for long when the black feathered harbingers of death came to feast. Eyes were the first to go. Aramis knew this.

Suddenly he found himself sitting up and staring at a blood spattered Athos.

Aramis frowned in confusion. "What?"

"Are you alright?" Athos' voice was laced with taught worry. He pulled a cloth from his pocket and wiped at Aramis' mouth. It came away red. "Blood… is it your ribs?"

His hands went to Aramis' chest before the young musketeer could bat them away.

"I'm fine… He kicked me." Aramis wheezed in a breath. At least breathing was a little easier now he wasn't face down on the floor. "It's my head… not my lungs. I wouldn't be talking if it was".

Athos' hands went to his head instead. They found a rather tender lump and Aramis winced.

"Well you seem coherent enough. How is your arm? I should find your sling…" Athos looked over at their bags, now attached securely to their horses.

"No, I'd rather have it free if we're riding. Not that it'll be much good." Aramis flexed his fingers and pain flared along his arm. And then the blood staining Athos' front caught his attention again. "Are you injured? Is Tilda alright?"

Athos went to help Aramis to his feet and get him over to Storm. "We're both alright. Laika took a good bite out of that guard, and then I came along to take a bigger bite".

Ah, that would explain the blood then…

"I've suggested she goes to visit one of her sons for a little while… Take hold of the saddle, I'll give you a leg up".

Aramis stifled a moan as he was near enough thrown on to the back of his horse.

When Athos mounted they set off into the yard only to come face to face with Mathieu. They had only knocked the guard out… it seemed he had regained consciousness.

All three of them stood frozen, looking at each other.

And then Mathieu gave a shout. "Stop where you are!"

"Oh, I think not". Athos said calmly before Henri took off.

Aramis didn't need to do a thing, he held on and Storm followed hot on Henri's heels. The sudden motion of his horse had the young musketeer groaning as it jarred his injuries. He had hoped for a more leisurely pace, but they had to outrun the guard.

While they had quite a head start Aramis managed a quick look over his shoulder and saw Mathieu had found his own horse. The guard seemed intent on following them. The two musketeers set out at a punishing pace that had Aramis struggling. Still the guard kept up. As they went on, the ground became more hilly, forcing them to slow a little. Mathieu managed to get closer and a musket ball came flying past between the two musketeers. At least the guard wasted his shot, he wouldn't get another.

By now Aramis had his hand entangled in Storm's mane to keep from falling. He wasn't sure he could trust himself to stay in the saddle, or stay conscious for much longer… The ground tracked up to a distant wooded area.

Athos gave a yell. "Into the trees!"

Onwards they charged, mindful of the ground now. As it became steeper more and more rocky protrusions littered the grass. But the guard did not slow, seemingly enticed by the thought of capturing the musketeers and being the hero of his regiment. Just as the two of them approached the tree line a sharp cry came from behind. Aramis risked a look over his shoulder and found Mathieu flat out on the ground with his horse fallen beside him.

"Athos, he's down!"

They stopped before the tree line and turned to watch as Mathieu's horse struggled to its feet and limped over to pick at some grass. The guard sat up slowly and shook his head, clearly dazed.

Athos allowed himself a smug smile. "Well, that's brought us a bit of time. The horse is practically useless to him now."

The two musketeers turned back and walked their horses beneath the shadowed boughs.


	8. Chapter 8

**Note**: Quote is from Lorde's version of "Everybody Wants to Rule the World".

* * *

><p><strong>Chapter Eight<strong>

_Help me make the most of freedom  
>And of pleasure<br>Nothing ever lasts forever_

The fallen guard did not follow the two musketeers into the trees. Still, Athos wanted to press on. Aramis was desperate to stop. His hand fisted in the mane of his horse, he grew pale and snatched at the air with his breath. But Athos was wary of their tracks being followed… More guards would come. They would find their dead friends in the house and follow the churned dirt until they reached the trees…

Athos led them through a small stream, hoping their tracks would be lost beneath running water. Eventually he set upon a trail that wound along the bottom edge of a cliff face. The weathered stone reached high above the tree boughs, Aramis couldn't see all the way to the top. He imagined it going on forever… a wall all the way up to heaven. He couldn't see because they were surrounded by evergreens, the only trees in the wood with a bit of colour and shelter. Dead leaves littered the earth beneath all the others. A weak mist clung to the ground with winter's pale sunlight unable to burn it away. There was a change to the air, a fresh crispness that winter brought with it, but the dank rot of autumn's leaves seemed to linger under the trees. It would not last long. Everything would freeze, and snow would come to cover the world in a white shroud, putting nature's dead to rest.

Aramis watched Athos ride ahead, the tendrils of mist curling about him. There was a stillness to the musketeer. Even as the world moved around him he was motionless. The trees were at the mercy of the wind, and Henri shook his head and snorted. But Athos was still. He seemed to be an oil painting escaped from the canvas. He had always been quiet and given over to inward reflection, but this was something different. Athos was not a part of this world, it touched him, but never changed him. The wind would blow and Athos remained. He was immovable as the cliff face they walked alongside.

It was perhaps here that Aramis felt Porthos' loss most keenly. There is a time for grieving, but it is the moments after that truly hurt the most. The times you fall into old habits and reach for a hand that is no longer there. Aramis turned to speak to Porthos as he usually would when Athos fell into himself. But there was nothing but the quiet of the wood. The young musketeer's face fell on realising… the hollow at his heart seemed to deepen.

Eventually Aramis felt a strange lightheadedness come upon him. He listed to one side, pulling on Storm's mane. "Athos…"

At hearing his name Athos looked over his shoulder and saw Aramis struggling to keep his balance. He turned Henri about and came to support his friend.

"Alright, we'll stop now. It'll be getting dark soon anyway. Let me get you down."

Aramis was too relieved to object to Athos handling him like a child. They moved off the trail, secured the horses and settled down beneath a cluster of evergreens. The branches entangled and entwined above their heads offering a little shelter. As they bedded down Athos handed Aramis a few bits of food and enquired after his injuries. Naturally the young musketeer insisted he was alright. He fended off any attempts at an examination and claimed he was just tired… As if to prove the point Aramis fell asleep moments later.

It was a relatively peaceful night. Aramis only woke once in a panic, reaching for his weapons, thinking they were under attack. He shouted out for Porthos then gasped after turning too quickly and wrenching his ribs. Athos' hands were on him moments later, urging him to lie down and go back to sleep. He wouldn't remember it the next day. It seemed nothing more than a dream…

A rumbling through the ground woke Aramis come morning. It took his fractured mind a moment to realise he recognised it… _horses_. He looked around for Athos and his heart lurched on finding he was alone with Storm.

"Athos?" The young musketeer hissed, hoping his friend was within earshot.

But there was no reply.

Aramis got to his feet and stumbled over to the horse, his aching body protested, but he had to get to a weapon. _Riders were coming_. They had left everything packed away, only taking out blankets to sleep on. After fishing around Aramis pulled out his pistol, he swore as he tried loading a ball. One hand shook while the fingers of his other were stiff with disuse. Finally he had it ready just as the sound of a rider approaching reached his ears. There was a crunch of dead leaves as they dismounted… Aramis swung the gun around and found he had it levelled at Athos' chest. Athos stopped dead and raised both his hands, at which point the young musketeer near enough collapsed with relief. Delicately Athos stepped forwards to take the pistol from his friend's lax grip.

"There are riders on the trail… _musketeers_." Athos looked near devastated as he spat the word out. "They will pass soon. Once they've gone we must leave."

But there was something else. Athos seemed personally offended… almost hurt. He knew musketeers were after them, what could have led to his composure slipping so?

"What is it? What's wrong?" Aramis frowned and put a hand to Athos' arm, stopping the older musketeer as he checked their bags over.

Athos gave him a dark look before reluctantly giving in. "Treville… I saw Treville with them."

Aramis' face fell at hearing that news. "Maybe we can talk to him… reason with him."

"No... Not while he's with the others anyway. All we can do is run. Let's get you mounted."

They sat concealed in the trees with bated breath. Shouts between the soldiers reached the two musketeers and then the main force went by at a steady pace with their eager horses snorting and shaking their heads. Aramis felt he would be given away by the thundering beat of his heart. It seemed loud enough to drown out all else. He willed his horse to keep quiet… A few stragglers cantered past, and then quiet returned to the wood. A bird called out as if declaring it all clear.

Still, Athos waited a few moments more before deeming it safe. When a few more birds joined in with the chorus he released a heavy breath... "Lets go."

Gingerly they walked their horses out on to the trail and set off in the opposite direction. They had not been riding for long when they turned a corner and stopped dead. A musketeer faced them, little more than a boy… His name escaped Aramis, but Athos seemed to know him.

"_Marius._" Athos gasped, seeming surprised.

The boy drew out his pistol and pointed it at Athos. "I can't let you go. Not again!"

"As I recall you didn't exactly let us go last time... We lost Porthos." There was a dangerous edge to Athos' voice.

"I swear to you I didn't know Andre was listening to us… I didn't tell him a thing."

Aramis frowned. "What are you talking about?"

"Marius was meant to help us escape, but his friend Andre overheard our little plan, and that is how we met with an ambush." Though he spoke to Aramis Athos didn't take his eyes from the boy.

"Andre is _not_ my friend." Marius protested.

"If you say so… Let us go freely and you can consider yourself forgiven."

Athos walked his horse forwards and Marius raised his pistol a little higher.

"Don't make me do this… _Please_". The pistol started to shake.

"You're the one with the gun Marius. The choice to shoot or not is yours." Athos' voice was disturbingly calm, as ever. "Aramis and I are going to continue on our way. Do what you will."

Athos gave a nod to Aramis and the young musketeer followed, giving Marius a curious look as he passed by. They continued along the path some way before the boy's voice rang out.

"Stop! Or I shoot!"

Athos spoke under his breath so only Aramis could hear. "He won't shoot. I warrant he's never taken a life before. The boy probably got into the regiment thanks to a well placed word from well bred parents. Shooting at targets is very different from shooting a man. He won't do it".

The sudden crack of gunfire startled a flock of birds from the trees.

"_Aramis!_"

Storm let out a distressed cry and dropped as the ball struck his haunch. Aramis fell from his back and yelled as he hit the ground. Like any horseman he had fallen many times and had learnt to roll with it. The impact jarred his ribs, but there was no serious damage done. Aramis clutched at his side and sucked in a harsh breath as Athos turned the air blue with a series of curses levelled at Marius. The boy lingered a moment, unsure of himself, before riding off after the other musketeers.

"Aramis! Are you alright?"

When finally he had enough breath to speak Aramis assured Athos he was still in one piece. But Storm was not… Aramis got to his feet and stumbled over to the stricken horse. He was staggering and trying to gain his feet, but at every attempt he fell back.

Aramis ran a gentle hand along his neck. "Lay still boy, let me see…"

"Leave him. Henri can carry us both as he did before." Athos held a hand out to Aramis.

But the young musketeer stalled. He had the sudden thought that d'Artagnan would be upset with him for losing his horse.

"Aramis, there's nothing you can do. That shot will have alerted the regiment and Marius is on his way to lead them back here. We have to go _now_."

"Can't keep losing things…" Aramis whispered under his breath, half in a daze.

There was the sound of feet hitting the ground and the next thing he knew Athos's hands were pulling him away towards Henri.

"Wait! My bag!" Aramis pushed back at Athos and tried to struggle out of his grip.

"I've got your weapons, there's nothing else you need! We have no time!"

Aramis broke free and dashed to his saddle bag. He fished out Tilda's small wooden horse and lingered only to stroke Storm's soft muzzle… The horse lowered his head to the ground and heaved a pained sigh. The young musketeer whispered "I'm sorry..."

Athos had him on Henri's back a moment later and they took off to the sound of thundering hooves behind. With the cliff face to the left, trees rushed past on their right. They were not careful in their flight. Stray branches reached out to scratch their clothes and lash their cheeks. Henri blew hard as he ran as fast as he could on uneven ground with two riders... The regiment was drawing close.

Suddenly the trees gave way to fresh air and the hills lay before them. Athos reined Henri in a little lest he trip and send them crashing to the ground. The sky was dark with gathering clouds. An oppressive feeling hung in the air... a storm was surely imminent. Henri made his way carefully through the rock protrusions, just as the rest of the musketeers burst from the tree line. Their horses snorted and tossed their heads, caught up in the pursuit and eager to run as they were. It would have been an impressive sight under any other circumstance. As it was the gallant line of soldiers were nothing but heralds of doom to the fleeing musketeers. Athos risked a look over his shoulder while Aramis kept his eyes fixed on the horizon. As soon as they hit flat ground Athos urged Henri on. Still, he swore under his breath, Aramis knew as well as he did that it would be near impossible to outrun the others with two riders on one horse. The flat ground would just let them catch up…

The heavens opened as Henri leapt forwards, giving all he had. The rain started slowly with heavy drops but soon it was lashing down in sheets. Aramis felt soaked through to the bone in seconds. But it helped… Men cried out behind them. The shouts were barely audible over the relentless hiss of the rain, but it sounded like the rocks had claimed a few victims with the wet ground and overeager horses. Henri spooked a little as a flash of lightning split the sky, but he kept on going. A crash of thunder followed after and the beast of a horse hardly flinched.

With rain in his eyes Aramis couldn't see a thing. The horizon was lost to him, they were just charging into oblivion. When it became too much he tried to shield his eyes behind Athos' shoulder. His arms wrapped tight around Athos' chest… There he could feel breath as frantic as his own. It hurt, but adrenaline took the worst of the pain away, and what remained had to be put to one side for now. Pain was starting to become a constant companion Aramis was learning to live with, and preoccupied with living as he was it couldn't hold sway.

Suddenly Henri's hooves slipped and he came to a halt, near dancing on the spot with his spirits so high. Aramis tightened his grip on Athos and together they just managed to stay on. Before them stood a raging river. It did not look too wide, but the heavy rainfall had its banks straining. Displaced dirt and broken branches from upstream were swept away in the rapidly running water. They wouldn't stand a chance, Henri would not be able to keep his legs in that… Still, with the regiment bearing down on them he could near enough _feel_ Athos calculating.

"We go in there and we die!" Aramis yelled over the roar of the weather.

"A bridge… there must be a bridge." Athos' voice was barely audible with the wind and the rain.

He set Henri dashing off alongside the river. Aramis tried to see how close the musketeers were, but it was near impossible to make anything out beneath the thick, rolling clouds and pouring rain. He was granted a glimpse when lightning illuminated the world for a fraction of a second. The figures of horsemen were seared into Aramis' eyes. It seemed for a moment that the biblical apocalypse had come. War, Famine, Pestilence and Death were charging along bringing a storm of reckoning. The end was near! But Aramis shook his head, reminding himself that nothing more than mortal man followed in their wake… Still, thunder rumbled through the clouds and the young musketeer heard it as heaven's wrath. Was this where it ended? Had everything since his indiscretion led to this moment? Aramis' sins were catching up with him… they were getting closer, borne on hooves in a storm. An inescapable reckoning was coming. Maybe he was ready to meet it. Aramis was half drowned, exhausted and in pain. He was so cold he could hardly feel his hands wrapped tight around Athos. Was it time to give in? Porthos was gone, his child was dead and home seemed a long forgotten memory. Everything was being taken away from him, he couldn't keep losing things… There wasn't much left to lose.

Jagged lightning split the sky once again and Athos gave a triumphant shout: "There it is! Just up ahead!"

Hearing Athos yell kindled a small spark of hope in Aramis' heart. There wasn't much left to lose, but what he had he wanted to hold on to. He still had _Athos_. Would he give his friend up so easily? The riders were closing in, and like a rabbit in snare Aramis felt the wire tighten around his neck. But he was not done fighting. He would struggle every step until the dark took hold and his spirit was torn free from his body.

Aramis had been so taken with the war in his heart he hadn't seen the bridge, but he saw it now, just as they were about to cross. And his heart quailed at the sight. It was a wooden construction, and it looked so _fragile._ It was hard to tell with the dark clouds and the lashing rain, but Aramis was sure he saw the bridge tremble as a branch crashed into its supports. It wouldn't take their weight. It would collapse!

"We won't make it!" Aramis shouted, but it was too late, Henri was going full tilt towards the bridge.

"We have to try!" Athos yelled back just as Henri's hooves clattered onto the wooden beams.

Aramis tightened his arms around Athos and held his breath. There was a reckless side to Athos he wasn't entirely sure he liked. It only came out in the most desperate of circumstances. Usually the older musketeer was stoic and steadfast to a fault - he was a picture of calm confidence, never without a plan or strategy. But when trapped between the devil and the deep blue sea a rare and terrifying side of him came to light. Recklessness was more Aramis' area of expertise, but even he would have baulked at crossing this bridge... Aramis couldn't breathe. This wasn't like the sickness that stole his breath before, this time his chest was seized with panic. He was waiting for the inevitable crunch and a crash... the water would steal his breath then.

It seemed he was destined to die. The river or the rope. What would it be?

But Aramis felt Henri's hooves touch down on solid ground and his breath shuddered out in relief. Neither would have him this day. When the crunch and the crash came it was one of Treville's men plunging into the icy water. Screams of man and horse were carried away on the wind. In a momentary pang of sorrow Aramis wondered if it had been any of their old friends. But old friends were falling fast these days it seemed.

A flash of lightning lit up the scene and Aramis thought he saw Treville on the other side of the bank, hunched against the rain, shouting orders. He didn't get another chance to look. They rode hard until the riders were lost and the river was far behind them.

Eventually the rain slowed and stopped, though the clouds took their time in moving on. The two musketeers started shivering hard and Henri settled into a walk, unable to go any faster. Aramis wiped the wet from his eyes and blinked hard at the horizon. The storm was clearing away, rumbles of thunder could still be heard fading in the distance. Around them the world was quiet, yet the air still felt charged and dangerous. Nothing made a sound. Everything had gone to ground and taken shelter, not even a bird breached the silence. Still, there was threat in the absence of sound. Sometimes quiet could be violent, Aramis mused… Just like Athos.

**~oOo~**

The two musketeers rode on, steering clear of roads and villages. But they were soaked through and frozen to the bone, even Henri dragged his feet. Aramis and Athos eventually took to their own feet, trying to save the horse. Athos trudged along with his reins in hand and Aramis struggled on with an arm wrapped around his aching chest.

"We should… find… an inn." Aramis' words stuttered between his chattering teeth.

"It's too… risky." Athos was similarly suffering.

"Worth the risk… I think. We'll freeze outside tonight… need to… get dry". Aramis coughed and winced.

They went back and forth for some time until their feet found a path and fate seemed to intervene. Before them, at a crossroads, there stood an inn. Still, they were wary… Athos handed Henri's reins to Aramis and went to take a look. He came back declaring it was near empty and there was no sign of any musketeers or guards. It seemed safe enough.

After leaving Henri with the stable boy the two musketeers made a beeline for the fire. They drew up a couple of chairs and made sure not to meet the eyes of any other travellers. Aramis gratefully rubbed some feeling back into his fingers. He frowned at watching Athos stare into the flames with abject misery. For himself he was taking pleasure in the little things - namely the fact they had survived and they were in front of a fire.

"What is the matter with you?" Aramis uttered under his breath.

Slowly Athos tore his gaze from the fire to Aramis. "It would perhaps be easier to tell you what _isn't_ the matter."

"I know… but at least we aren't freezing to death out there any more."

"We might be soon. We can't stay here for the night without money for a room. Were you hoping they would just forget we're here?"

A dark look passed over Aramis' face, his eyes shot to the lady behind the bar and back. There was one way he could get a room without money. Athos would not approve.

"I'll get us a room." The young musketeer swiped a hand through his hair hoping to tame it a little. He must look like a drowned rat… This was a bad idea, but no worse than riding over a collapsing bridge.

When Aramis got to his feet Athos reached out for his arm, cottoning on to his plan. "Aramis, _no_…"

The young musketeer simply brushed him off and painted a smile on his face as he approached the bar. The woman was a bit older than he usually went for, and she was no oil painting, but needs must. Besides, he was pale, wet through, and quite gaunt himself. Aramis just hoped his charm still worked.

"Do you gentlemen want a drink or are you just admiring the scenery?" She snarked at him… This was not a good start.

Aramis tried to salvage the situation. "I would very much like to order a drink, some food, and a bed for the night too. Unfortunately we were set upon by bandits and all our money was stolen…" He gave her a look that would melt the hardest of hearts.

"Well… perhaps we can come to some other arrangement." Her eyes roved his body up and down, but she wasn't looking at what Aramis expected her to be looking at. "That's a pretty necklace you've got there. Worth a bit is it?"

The young musketeer raised a hand to the small, golden cross he wore and he shot back as if scalded. Aramis suddenly felt he was betraying Anne by doing this. It was ridiculous… they were not together, they could _never_ be together… but he felt a strange sense of loyalty towards her. The young musketeer suspected Anne felt the same way. She had seemed a little jealous at seeing the cross around Ninon's neck. How jealous would she be at him bedding this woman? How shameful would she find it that he was selling himself for a room?

As he stood looking lost the woman broke into his thoughts. "Gone all shy have we? Let me guess, it's a token from some mistress? Well I'll not take that from you then… I've given a few of them in my time. Maybe you'll have something else pretty hanging around your neck soon." She gave him a coy smile.

Aramis swallowed hard, he couldn't think of Anne, not now… He smiled again, slipping the mask back in place. "The prettiest things I've seen in here are your eyes".

It wasn't his best, but he _was _a little out of practice.

She started to fiddle with a lock of her dirty blonde hair. "Oh you are a charmer, aren't you?"

"My name is Alexander… and who might you be?" He flashed an easy smile, but it no longer came easily.

The barmaid leaned across the bar and near enough breathed her name in his ear. "You can call me Fleur."

Aramis caught Fleur's hand and stared into her eyes as he gently kissed it. He could practically feel Athos' glare boring into his back.

"My friend had a horse named Fleur, she was a wonderful beast to ride." Aramis hoped she caught the mischievous glint in his eye. As far as seductions went he was blundering about a bit…

"Oh, maybe we have more than a name in common then." She gave a sudden raucous laugh that had Aramis cringing.

He tried to join in and laugh along with her, but his laughter turned into a harsh cough. The young musketeer had tried to suppress it, the last thing he needed was to fall ill again, but he just couldn't hold it back. When the choking subsided Fleur reached over and cupped his cheek with rough fingers.

"Oh you poor thing, you're soaked through… Come on, lets get you out of those wet clothes." Her words started off concerned but ended up with a more sultry tone. "Your friend can stop in the first room on the right upstairs. He might be waiting a while for you."

"My thanks… One moment if you please". He gave her a wink as he left, but as soon as Aramis turned his back on Fleur the smile died on his face.

The young musketeer straightened and walked to Athos like a condemned man. He started to switch off and shut down, he couldn't be here for this… Aramis took the cross from around his neck and held it tightly in his fist. Taking it off somehow lessened the feeling of betrayal.

Athos stared up at him with pleading eyes. "You don't have to do this…"

"You have your room… First on the right upstairs". Aramis placed the cross down on the table in front of his friend. He spoke in a flat tone devoid of all emotion. "Look after this for me."

"We can go. We can leave right now." Athos spoke quickly.

"And go where? Better this than freezing to death out there…"

"_Aramis..._" Athos hissed his name as the young musketeer turned to go.

Fleur stood at the bottom of the stairs holding out an eager hand. Aramis took it reluctantly and painted on a smile that never reached his eyes.

**~oOo~**

Some time later Aramis pushed open the door to Athos' room and crept in, hoping not to wake his friend.

A voice filtered through the darkness. "What? She couldn't stretch to two rooms?"

So he was awake...

The young musketeer cleared his throat sheepishly. "They're all taken."

"And she kicked you out of hers? Were you that bad?"

Aramis let out a harsh breath. "I… I couldn't stop there. I just..."

He couldn't explain either. Aramis just knew there was the _act_… There was what he had done, and it was separate, it wasn't him. It was all sweat and fire, skin against skin, a flash… a moment. And then there was _afterwards_… lying there, breathing in the same air, taking in each other all night when he was more himself than he had been. It seemed a more intimate betrayal than what came before. That was an act in more ways than one… a mere action, mindless wheels and cogs fitting together, but also a masquerade. He was a character in the theatre of a bedroom, and it all fell away once the curtain came down.

Athos seemed to understand what Aramis didn't say. His tone was more serious when he spoke again. "You didn't have to do that."

"It worked." The reply was short indicating that Aramis didn't want to talk about it.

The young musketeer shuffled blindly across the small room until he hit a chair. He sat down with a groan. Every bit of his body ached, and_ recent activity_ hadn't helped…

"What are you doing?"

"Sleeping, or trying to." Aramis huffed and twisted uncomfortably.

"Don't be foolish, you can't sleep in the chair. Come here." The sound of shifting bedclothes followed.

"There's no room. I know, I've already been in one of those beds tonight…" He tried to make a joke of it, but it fell quite flat.

"Well then, you won't mind getting in another one." The bed creaked as Athos sat up. "Come on, if you don't want to share I'll take the chair. You need to lie in a bed."

"Why? Because I've_ earnt_ it?" Aramis spoke bitterly, though he was more angry at himself than Athos.

"Because you were quite recently injured." Athos' tone turned matter of fact. "And I'm not entirely convinced you're fully fit."

"I'm alright." Aramis shot straight back.

A heavy sigh rushed through the dark in reply. "Just come and lie down, for pity's sake…"

And despite his protestations Aramis gratefully went to slip beneath the covers. He curled up with Athos at his back and he was secretly glad for the warmth of another body that didn't smell of cheap perfume and gin.

**~oOo~**

The next morning Aramis lay awake thinking of everything and nothing. He wanted to explain himself, but he was too ashamed to talk about it. Athos had never approved of his falling in and out of beds, but this… this cheapened everything.

Athos shifted about, waking up gradually. He stilled for a moment before speaking. "Are you alright?"

"You must think poorly of me…" Aramis' words were slow and subdued.

"Why?"

Wasn't it obvious? But the question seemed genuine.

"I know you think I love too readily and too easily…" Suddenly the words Aramis had been searching for slipped out like sand through his fingers. "No, 'love' is not the word. You think I lust… but it is not that, it's never been about _that_. Not the notches on my bedpost, not whatever I get in return. I have never stooped this low… I feel the dirt is ingrained in my soul and it will not come out." He clutched a hand to his heart and dug angry fingernails into flesh. "But it was always love that moved me. I have to love, Athos... Like I need to breathe, I need to love, because this will all end. Our lifestyle can't go on forever. It will all be torn apart, and whatever becomes of us I would not have it end with smiles I haven't seen and soft lips I've never kissed. They deserve to be known, and I thought I deserved to know them. I had to love as much as I could while I was still able to love… Do you understand? I just need you to understand."

Athos was quiet. Before he had a chance to answer Aramis gave a broken laugh. "But look at me, speaking of endings. It is already done, it is already finished. If I could never love another after Anne I certainly can't love now. Not while we are like this…"

This time his answer was not slow in coming. "I understand, and I do not think poorly of you. I never have done. Perhaps you mistook me…" A note of hesitation crept into Athos' voice. "It has been a long time since I was able to love. I never feared time running out. Maybe I just feared for you… My love turned to poison, I didn't want to see you get hurt."

"Well the damage is done now…" Aramis' voice was tired. "But it was my doing. I was the poison, and I've killed us all. I'm sorry…"

"I've already forgiven you." Athos reached over to his bedside table and delicately picked something up. "And I'm sure she would too."

Aramis found Anne's small, golden cross being pressed into his hand.

"Now, are you alright?" The oppressive atmosphere seemed to lighten in the face of Athos' concern.

"If I say 'yes' will you believe me?" Aramis' voice was still tainted with sorrow.

"I heard you coughing."

So that would be a 'no' then…

"Of course I was coughing, we'd just ridden through one of the worst storms I've ever seen."

"_I_ wasn't coughing." Athos sat up and perched on the edge of the bed. It gave him a better vantage point to glare down from.

"Yes, well, you're _you_… I've never seen you ill outside of a bottle." Aramis tried to roll over and turn his back on Athos, but a hand on his shoulder stopped him.

"Let me see." Athos tugged at the blanket and Aramis stubbornly held on to it.

"I'm alright, really… Athos, you're not my mother."

"Well, she's not here and somebody has to look after you."

Aramis reluctantly relinquished the blanket and let Athos pull his shirt up. It was probably quicker to let him look, the man was like a dog with a bone…

"These are looking better." Athos waved at the lurid bruising across Aramis chest.

The bruises were starting to heal. They spread across his skin in a mottled variety of colours instead of the deep, dark, blacks and blues of before. When Athos started pressing along his ribs Aramis tried not to react with a wince, but the tension in his body told Athos all he needed to know.

"Still tender?"

Aramis gave a nod. "A little."

"Well, they're healing at least. Just keep breathing deeply, you don't want to fall ill again… Now your arm."

The young musketeer pulled back his sleeve and offered his arm for inspection. Athos ran his fingers over it with a frown. The swelling had gone down, but it was still painted vividly with bruises, like Aramis' chest. There was a scar marring his skin as well.

"It's fine, I can move it…" Aramis flexed his fingers stiffly, not quite managing a fist. "Well... mostly."

Athos gave him a pointed look. "I'm not quite sure your definition of 'fine' is the same as everyone else's. How is your leg?"

It ached. But he wasn't about to tell Athos that.

"It's fine too." Athos looked skeptical. "I can walk can't I?"

"Really walk or _mostly_ walk?" Athos raised an eyebrow.

"Touché." Aramis pulled his sleeve back down and sat himself up.

Suddenly the young musketeer felt the absence of Porthos… There was a hole in the room where he ought to be. There was a strangled silence in place of his words. Porthos would be telling Athos not to worry, he'd be laughing at Aramis' exploits and pulling him to his feet. Aramis stood quite stiffly. There was no hand to help him. Athos was his melancholy self again, quiet and lost in his thoughts. They needed Porthos to lift them up and lighten their hearts.

Walking to the window Aramis looked out on a pale, frosted morning. The sky was hidden by an endless sheet of grey cloud. He could almost hear Porthos at his shoulder…

"_Looks like snow."_

It did, and Aramis gave a shudder. He hated the snow. It was cold, it was wet, and it covered dead bodies in a dusting of powder… The carrion crows stood out black against white, like a macabre chessboard where death had won. Snow meant Savoy. It meant troubled sleep… As if his mind wasn't troubled enough already.

Aramis held the golden cross to his lips and reverently placed it around his neck. He said a quiet prayer for Anne, their child, and Porthos. And then he came to grip the window sill tightly. There was clatter of hooves outside, and the flash of a blue cloak.

"Athos… _musketeers._"

Athos shot to his feet. They looked at each other with sheer panic for a moment. The world seemed to stop.

Then Athos came back to himself, the soldier resumed control again. "Are you sure? Did you recognise them?"

"I think so… I'm not sure, I didn't see them clearly." He started to doubt in the face of Athos' questions. "Gather our things. I'll take a look."

Aramis crept to the door and opened it a crack. On finding it all clear he slipped out and hid at the top of the stairs. A rough voice echoed up from below.

"Madame, there's a fine black horse in your stable. Two wanted men were recently seen riding it, are they here?"

That voice belonged to a man named Jean - a veteran of the regiment who Aramis had sparred with a good few times.

"How am I supposed to know who rides what horse? Ask the stable boy." At least Fleur wasn't being helpful.

"We're going to have to search the whole inn if you can't tell me."

So he wasn't alone...

Deciding he had heard enough Aramis went back to their room. He shut the door quietly, as if he were frightened of waking a sleeping babe.

"Jean's down there, I don't know who else, but he isn't alone. We have to go, they're going to search the place." Aramis tried to keep his voice even, but a note of panic was creeping in.

Athos gave a nod and went to heave the window open. It resisted having warped in the cold. When it reluctantly gave way Athos looked down warily, but seeming satisfied he placed a bag on the sill.

"What are you doing?" Aramis asked as he went to put a restraining hand on the bag.

"We can't go back down the stairs, we'll walk right into them... We'll have to go out the window." He pushed the bag out and it hit the ground with a crunch.

Aramis stuck his head through the window and tried to suppress a cough as the cold air hit the back of his throat. It wasn't that far down really… He had jumped out of windows before. All you had to do was bend your knees and roll. He had avoided injury before… Well, there was that time he broke his ankle leaping from the window of Madame de Chevreuse. The young musketeer had not been able to walk for weeks afterwards, and Treville had not been happy to say the least. The consequences here and now would be a little more dire...

Athos threw the rest of their belongings out and then he clasped Aramis' shoulder. "I'll go first."

The older musketeer sat on the sill and lifted his legs out carefully. With no warning he flung himself clear of the window and landed with an audible "oof!". But Aramis' attention was taken by the sound of heavy footsteps coming up the stairs. He scrambled his way onto the ledge and near enough fell out of the window. In his panic the young musketeer forgot all about landing properly. He crashed down half on their bags and half on Athos, who hadn't yet got clear. They both bit back their shouts, not wanting to attract any attention, and got to their feet. Aramis was a little slower to his… Still, he was thankful for the softer landing. After everything they'd been through it was a miracle his broken ribs hadn't punctured a lung by now.

The two musketeers dashed over to the stables, but they came to a dead halt on rounding a corner and finding a musketeer holding Henri while interrogating the stable boy.

Athos swore under his breath and pushed Aramis back. He scrubbed an anxious hand through his hair. "Alright… I have a plan. Remember Luc? Get ready."

"Ready for what?!" Aramis hissed.

But it was too late, Athos darted from cover and held his arms out wide. "Raoul, my old friend! I believe you've been looking for me?"

He spoke with the sort of brash confidence that Porthos was famed for.

And the reaction was immediate.

"Oi! Stop where you are!" The musketeer shouted and ran over, brandishing his rapier in an instant.

And suddenly Aramis remembered Luc. The man had been involved in a kidnapping, and they took him down with this very move.

Raoul reached the corner, intent on getting Athos. And that was when Aramis made his move. He darted forwards to punch Raoul viciously across the face. The musketeer dropped to the ground, out cold, never having seen it coming.

Aramis shook his hand and winced. "A little more warning would have been nice."

"We haven't got time for that." Athos retrieved their bags and went to take Henri from the stable boy.

The young lad relinquished his hold on the reins with nary a blink. It must have been quite a shock… one moment he was mucking out and the next he was embroiled in an adventure with musketeers and wanted criminals. He would have quite a tale to tell when he got home that night.

Athos flung their bags onto Henri before flinging Aramis up and climbing aboard himself. Henri still felt a little weary beneath them, but he responded readily enough. Aramis wrapped his arms tightly around Athos once again as they raced off towards the road.

Aramis' warm breath misted in the frigid air, it was almost painful to take in. He kept snatching glances over his shoulder, looking to see if they were being followed. But the inn was soon out of sight and neither Jean nor Raoul were in pursuit. The young musketeer nearly breathed a sigh of relief, but there was still some tension coiled deep in his chest. He would not breathe easy again until they were under cover and out of sight.

The road took a steep incline and Henri seemed to struggle. Athos urged him on with words as well as his heels. The horse breathed hard, giving all he had left, and then he stopped abruptly on reaching the brow of the hill. The riders froze as Henri had done. Ahead stood two mounted red guard. Aramis suddenly felt sick. Athos tried to turn Henri around, but burdened and weary as he was the horse was slow to respond. The guards wasted no time, they rode forwards and levelled their pistols at the two musketeers.

The first was older, with a straggling unkempt beard and a smug grin that Aramis would dearly have liked to wipe from his face. "It seems fortune favours us this day. We scoured these lands for months looking for the runaway musketeer rats, and look - they walk right in to us!"

The young guard by his side sniggered a laugh. His dirty, blonde hair was tied back in an untidy ponytail. "We'll have to play a few hands of cards, see if it holds up!"

"Off your horse now. Don't give me an excuse to shoot you." The smug grin became something more sinister.

Neither Athos nor Aramis made a move.

"Do not try my patience. I have instructions to bring you back alive, but accidents do happen…"

"Perhaps if you asked a little more politely I might be inclined to cooperate." Athos seemed able to bring each facet of his personality out at will. Sometimes it was the hardened soldier, this time it was the cultured Comte de la Fere.

"I have never asked a musketeer _anything_ politely, and I will not start now." The older guard raised his pistol to point between Athos' eyes. "Aramis, get down, or I shoot him."

"He won't do it." Athos kept his expression calm and neutral… it was almost unnerving. "Do you really think one of these cowards would risk the wrath of the cardinal?"

Still… Aramis remembered the last time Athos was so sure another wouldn't shoot. He reluctantly slid from Henri's back and hit the ground heavily. The young musketeer wouldn't risk losing Athos, and this was no place to make a stand. It couldn't be done… not staring down the barrel of a gun with two to a horse, and a horse with hardly enough energy to hold its head up no less.

"Good. Now you."

Athos gave the guard a look of derision that Aramis had seen before. It would usually anger the most peaceful of men.

The guard scowled. "You get off your horse, or I will make you get off your horse."

But before any threat could be carried out the sound of hooves coming up on the path behind reached them. The guards shifted uneasily in their saddles as Jean and Raoul appeared over the crest of the hill. Aramis wasn't sure whether to be relieved or concerned at their appearance. This would be no rescue party. It felt like being trapped between a lion and a wolf.

Jean levelled a pistol at the guards while Raoul covered Athos and Aramis.

"We'll take it from here, gentlemen." Jean spoke with the air of a commanding officer, it set the guards bristling instantly.

"We caught them, they're our prisoners!" The older red guard bellowed.

"And we have been pursuing them, you just stumbled in the way!" Jean bit back, he was no stranger to fighting with the red guard.

"You would not be pursuing them had our men not found them hiding in that cottage!" The red guard's face was turning a shade of crimson.

"And your men lost them! We picked up their trail again - you red guard couldn't track an elephant through the streets of Paris."

Aramis watched the argument between the two sides like a ball going back and forth in a game of tennis. He was sure this friction could work to their advantage somehow… But before Aramis came up with anything Jean lowered his pistol.

"Enough of this. There is an inn a little way along the road, I suggest we return there, secure the prisoners, and settle this like gentlemen. A game of cards perhaps?"

Aramis raised an eyebrow. Jean was not the sort to back down from a fight. He must have a card up his sleeve so to speak… But the red guard were taken in.

"Very well, luck seems to be on our side today. I can beat you with cards as well as I can a sword… Now to get this fool off his horse."

The red guard rode alongside Henri. Just as Athos was about to open his mouth the brute of a man cracked him over the head with the butt of his pistol. Athos went limp and slid from Henri's back. Aramis caught him awkwardly, feeling the pull of his own injuries. They sank down to the hard ground of the road. Aramis' heart lurched at seeing a trickle of blood down the side of Athos' face.

"Athos?" The young musketeer shook him gently, but there was no response.

"Now which one of you has some rope?"

* * *

><p><strong>Note<strong>: Part of this was inspired by an interview that Santiago gave where he said: "It was a time in France where they knew it was a lifestyle that was about to end, so they are living life to the full. That's definitely one of the elements of Aramis, he is enjoying it for as long as he can because he knows this lifestyle can't go on for ever."


	9. Chapter 9

**Note**: Here you go Sue, don't say I never give you anything ;)

Just a little warning for this chapter - the language gets a bit crude.

**Chapter Nine**

When Athos first stirred to wakefulness it took a moment for him to orient himself. There was something soft beneath him, but his arms ached, and his head for that matter. Where was he? The hollow of a tree? A barn? His eyes flickered…

"Athos? Are you awake?" A voice came from opposite. Aramis? Porthos?

"Mmm…" It was the only response he could muster.

And then reality snapped back into place as a rough hand grasped his hair and pulled his head up.

"Looks like he is. So good of you to join us at last." It was the cruel voice of the young red guard.

Athos took in their surroundings in an instant. It seemed they were tied to posts in the stable of the inn they had just escaped from. Fresh straw cushioned the hard ground, and Aramis sat opposite. The young musketeer had concern in his eyes and a fresh bruise at his cheek. A flare of anger unfurled in Athos' heart.

"Are you alright?" Aramis asked, his eyes flicked warily to the guard.

Athos winced as the brute shook his head viciously. "Yes, I think he is, and what have I told you about speaking when you haven't been spoken to?"

The guard stalked over to Aramis.

"NO! Leave him!" Athos shouted, seeing what he was about to do.

A hefty boot struck Aramis' side. The young musketeer bit off a cry, but he went awfully pale and curled over as best he could.

"Aramis?" Athos' voice was frantic. If that blow had shifted bones… if they had punctured his lungs…

"I'm… fine." The young musketeer managed to grit out.

While Athos was happy to note no blood flecked his friend's lips he was reminded of his earlier words to Aramis… _I'm not quite sure your definition of 'fine' is the same as everyone else's._

The red guard simply laughed and walked to the door. "Where is that dog of a musketeer? He was supposed to relieve me…"

With the guard's attention elsewhere Athos risked speaking under his breath. "Really Aramis, are you alright?"

Who knows what the guard had done while he'd been unconscious? Aramis had clearly suffered a blow to the face - that much he couldn't hide.

The young musketeer gave a tight smile. "Hurt like… hell, but no damage done".

"You're late, you wretch." The guard scowled at the doorway.

"So was your mother when she came to my room last night." Raoul's voice filtered through to them, and Athos couldn't help but smile at the insult.

A fading stream of curse words followed from the exiting red guard.

They watched Raoul warily as he sauntered in. The musketeer gave them each a once over and turned his attention to Aramis.

"I owe you a blow to the face…" Raoul crouched in front of the young musketeer and tilted his head to one side with a rough hand. "... but it looks like somebody else got there first."

Aramis defiantly pulled his head away from Raoul's hand and spoke angrily. "What are you doing consorting with _them_? For shame Raoul!"

"Well Jean was winning his hand when I left, but do not be fooled - he is playing for time, not winnings. The rest of the regiment will be here soon."

Ice ran through Athos' veins at hearing that. There would be no escaping the regiment. They had to get away _now_.

Raoul idly leaned against a post to watch them. "I can't believe it has come to this… I can't believe it is you three. You were always the favourites, you know? You were the best of us. And look how far you've fallen."

Athos didn't respond. He wasn't sure where Raoul was going with this. The musketeer was probably just rubbing their noses in it, and Athos wouldn't rise to any bait. He looked across at Aramis who was similarly unresponsive. The young musketeer stared vacantly at a spot on the ground… it was a little disconcerting.

Still, Raoul was not deterred. His eyes settled on Aramis. "You know what the only thing I _can_ believe is? That you would think more with your dick than your head. The queen, Aramis? You can't get much more foolish than that. I almost didn't believe it. I didn't believe anyone, even you, would be that stupid. We were sent after you for treason, we weren't given much in the way of details… but tongues started wagging, and rumours started circulating. I would have took them for rumours, but then the pieces started fitting together… The queen being with child after all of these years… your little adventure at the convent…" Raoul barked a laugh. "A convent Aramis! Oh, you are bound for hell, you who reveres God so much… you must have offended him mightily with _that_ act."

Each word was calculated to anger Aramis, but the young musketeer's eyes remained on the ground.

Raoul pressed on. "Tell me, just between us… was she worth it? I couldn't imagine fucking the queen. Tell me Aramis, you've rutted your way around Paris, was she the best of the lot? Were her lips more tender than every other whore's? Were her thighs milky white as they parted for you? When you sli-"

Raoul didn't get any further. He took a step back as Aramis surged to his feet with a roar. If his arms were not bound tight around the post the young musketeer would have knocked Raoul to the ground, and would no doubt be raining blow after blow upon him.

"How dare you speak of her so?!" Aramis pushed forwards, even as his arms held him back. It must have hurt, but he seemed beyond acknowledging pain.

"I think _you_ have done more damage to her honour than I have." The musketeer laughed. He stood just out of range, mere inches away from Aramis, who was straining against his bonds, near enough growling. It brought to mind a dog on a leash, eager to take a bite out of an intruder that was just out of reach. "Words are nothing compared to what you have done. My words are not going to shame the queen any more than your lips did when you dared to kiss her. My words won't put a child in her belly... it is probably best the child died. If it were found out a bastard sat upon the throne I could not imagine the chaos. There would be such blood on your hands Aramis, count yourself lucky your bastard died when it did."

That sent Aramis into a new frenzy. He was pulling so hard Athos was amazed he hadn't dislocated a shoulder. In a way the blows of the red guard had hurt less than this.

"Aramis, sit down." Athos knew his words would have no effect. Still he felt moved to try. "He wants to hurt you and you're letting him. Calm yourself."

Aramis went on as if he hadn't heard a word Athos said.

Spittle flecked the air as the young musketeer yelled at Raoul. "Draw! Cut my bonds and give me my sword! If you be a man and stand by your words then draw!"

"You're a prisoner, I'm not giving you any weapons." Raoul leaned against a post with a slight smirk. "I was just curious. I wanted to know what it was like to bed the queen. Usually only kings have the pleasure. Was she good enough to risk death? Jesus, Aramis, the streets of Paris are lined with whores if you were that desperate. Or could you not even wait until you got home? You should have taken a nun, they're less lethal than royalty."

Aramis suddenly stilled, breathing hard. His gaze fell back to the middle distance. His words were barely audible when he spoke. "... I'm the lethal one."

Athos wasn't entirely sure what Aramis meant, but he didn't get a chance to consider the words further. The sound of a commotion outside met their ears.

"Ready their horse. It is mine, along with the prisoners." The loud voice of the older red guard filtered through the door.

"You cheated! I was winning fairly, you had that card up your sleeve! I know all the tricks." That was Jean, and he sounded furious.

"If you know all the tricks then you must have been winning by using them!" The guard shot back.

Raoul went outside to see what was happening.

The stable lad shot in and made for Henri, he was tacked up and led out in no time at all. Soon after the young red guard came in to untie Aramis. He was taken outside with his hands still bound together. The guard returned for Athos.

"I demand satisfaction!"

Athos blinked in the sudden daylight, having been taken from the musty, dim, air of the stable. The scene he met was a tense one. Jean stood with his sword brandished at the older red guard. The guard had his hand on the hilt of his own blade, but he was not yet drawn. Aramis stood by Henri, he had been tied to the saddle, and Athos was about to join him.

"You demand it do you? I think you are going to be disappointed!" Finally the older red guard drew his sword and the two soldiers set to trading blows in front of the inn.

Raoul circled them, shouting encouragement and laughing like a deranged hyena when Jean landed a blow. The young red guard set to tying Athos up, but he left the job half done on seeing his friend being pressed keenly. He jumped in with a cry, which then drew Raoul into the fray. The four of them turned the duel into more of a melee, leaving Aramis and Athos watching in stunned silence. But Athos was not going to let this opportunity slip by. He made short work of freeing his hands and leapt on to Henri's back. Just as he helped Aramis up the sound of many hooves clattering on the road reached them. The regiment were here!

Athos wasted no time in leaving when he saw the horsemen crest the hill to the inn.

"STOP!" A voice bellowed from amidst the small melee. But they were off, it was too late.

At a distance the fight with the red guard seemed to have caught the rest of the musketeers attention. Word probably had not reached them that Athos and Aramis had been captured. But as soon as the regiment reached the combatants they would very quickly hear about it, and the two musketeers would find themselves pursued. So Athos rode Henri off the path and through the undulating countryside once again.

They only stopped when Henri started to struggle. Luckily a small stream ran nearby, they were all eager to take a drink.

"Athos… my hands."

Athos slipped from the saddle and turned to find Aramis holding his still bound hands out. The older musketeer felt slightly bad, they had been so intent on escaping he hadn't given a thought to Aramis' bonds. He was still tied to the saddle.

"Ah… let me…" Athos retrieved his dagger to cut the rope. Aramis thankfully rubbed his wrists and went to soothe his sore flesh in the stream.

The water was ice cold as Athos cupped it in his hands, but it was undeniably refreshing. Then with a sigh he went to look through their belongings. Not everything had survived their capture and flight. One of the bags was missing with some food and clothes. Aramis' weapons were gone, but the young musketeer was relieved to find his little black horse figure was still there. Personally Athos would have preferred a blade, but whatever brought his friend comfort…

Aramis sat on a rock by the stream, turning the wooden horse over with tender fingers. He put it inside a shirt pocket when Athos came to sit by him, as if suddenly embarrassed.

"What Raoul said back there… he was just trying to rile you, you know that?"

"I know." Aramis let out a sigh and his eyes settled on the running water. "But his words went straight to my heart."

The young musketeer closed a fist over his chest. Whether he aimed for his heart or the golden cross Athos didn't know.

"I couldn't help myself". The fist tightened. "I wanted to hurt him… I wanted to wring his scrawny little neck. I'm not like you, I can't let it wash over me like water off a duck's back."

"Well, luckily for him you were tied up." Athos noted wryly.

"Why would he say those things? Why would he be so cruel? He was one of our brothers…" Aramis' fist relaxed and his hands dropped to his knee.

"Raoul has always been jealous. His words betrayed him… '_you were always the favourites_'... Circumstance has let his jealousy turn to cruelty now we are seen as the enemy, and being one of our brothers he knows exactly how to twist the knife."

"If we ever meet again I'll be the one twisting the knife... ideally between his ribs."

"And I'll hold him down for you." Athos gave Aramis a pat on the shoulder, and then Henri drinking from the stream caught his eye and another tough subject jumped to mind. "We're going to have to sell Henri."

Aramis shot his head up to meet Athos' eyes. "What? Why? We need a horse, we need him-"

"He's too recognisable, and we can't both ride him, not for long anyway. He's tired out. But he's a good horse, we could buy two with the money we get from selling him."

"Two mules maybe." Aramis noted morosely.

"Better two mules than one fine charger on the verge of collapse. Besides, you underestimate my ability to bargain. I'll get a good price for him."

"What about our ever keen pursuers?"

"I'll go to sell him alone. Less chance of being recognised if we're apart. I'm sure we can slip around any guards." Athos had tried to speak positively, but the weight of their situation suddenly fell on him. "Truthfully we haven't much of a choice Aramis. We're not going to get far with one horse, and we just lost some of our supplies. We have to try our luck at the next town we come across."

"So it is that bad then?"

"Well, it isn't good, but we've faced worse."

A stray snowflake drifted down between the two men… Maybe worse was yet to come.

**~oOo~**

The roads seemed filled with patrolling red guard and musketeers, so Athos and Aramis kept to the countryside. Henri found it hard going. They ended up walking to give the horse a rest now and then. Snow had continued falling. It had not come down heavily but it was enough to cover the land in a light dusting of white. Athos didn't miss the way Aramis shivered and hunched against the cold. There seemed more to it than discomfort at the weather. He almost seemed to be shielding himself. The young musketeer was like it every year at the first sign of snow. Athos supposed it stirred bad memories. Even years afterwards the smallest of things could send you right back to a terrible moment in time. Athos himself couldn't keep a shiver from his frame when they passed a spray of blue flowers.

Eventually a town loomed on the horizon, just as the light was failing. The main gate was heavily guarded, but the two musketeers circled around the town wall, hoping to find a gap. It was an old stone construction, time and weather had crumbled it away in places. There were numerous holes and gaps, they just had to find one big enough to fit a horse through. When finally they found a spot Henri baulked at walking through it. It took no small amount of encouragement to get him to step forwards, eventually a slap on the rear had to be employed. They found themselves in a quiet churchyard amongst weathered graves and creaking trees. The snow and silence gave everything a haunted feel. Athos almost expected to see pale ghosts stood by their stone markers… After agreeing to meet back up at the hole in the wall they went their separate ways - Aramis to find food, Athos to sell Henri.

The horse trader wasn't hard to find. He had a row of horses tethered to a hitching post outside his stables. Each looked slightly malnourished and miserable. Athos very nearly turned around, but he just couldn't afford to. He could try selling Henri to anyone, but a horse trader was more likely to know the value of the animal, and more likely to buy. Athos would rather not risk having to show his face around dozens of people searching for one who wanted a horse. He only hoped Henri would sell quickly. Henri was a good horse, Athos felt sure he would not be with this man for long.

A man came out and started to untie the first horse, making to lead it back to the stable. He seemed to be putting them away for the night. The man was tall and well dressed, he seemed to spend more money on himself than his horses.

"A word, if you please, my friend." Athos tried to catch his attention.

"I'm closing for the night, come back tomorrow." The trader turned his back and kept walking.

"Monsieur, you will not want to miss the horse I'm offering you."

"I'm sure your horse is the fastest in France and has the strength to carry twenty men and their baggage. Every horse that comes to my door is the same. Come back tomorrow, he may be able to carry thirty men by then."

"Monsieur, I have another interested party, this horse will be gone tomorrow!"

At that the trader paused and glanced over his shoulder, no doubt expecting to see a nag of some sort. He did a double take on seeing Henri standing proud at Athos' side. The trader called over a stable lad and left his horse with the boy.

"Bring your horse over here, let me have a look at him."

Athos did as he was asked and the trader eagerly stepped forwards to run his hands over Henri. Seeming pleased he called over the stable boy again and told him to walk and trot the horse up and down.

"Hmm… do I see a bit of lameness in that off hind?"

"The light is not that good Monsieur, night is nearly upon us. He is sound, I guarantee it. He has carried me many miles, it is just the darkness that tricks your eyes."

"If he is so good then why do you seek to sell him?" The trader gave Athos a curious look.

"In truth, I could use the money. Besides, he is quite an eager young beast and I am getting older, I could do with something a little more laid back."

"Well, being but a poor horse trader I have not got much money of my own, I am not sure I can afford a horse of his worth… but I have many horses that would suit you. I would let you have one, nay - two!"

Athos cast a doubtful eye over the trader, his fine clothes gave his lies away. He had the money. Henri was worth at least four of this man's horses. Besides the terrible deal, Athos would rather buy new horses elsewhere. They would be too easily traceable if Henri was recognised - The trader would be able to tell any guards or musketeers exactly what horses he had sold in exchange for Henri.

"If you haven't got the money, the other interested dealer has. I will bid you goodnight." Athos went to take Henri's reins from the stable boy.

"Ah! Don't be too hasty now! I will have your horse, I will just have to see how much money I can scrape together. Will you come inside so we can do business like gentlemen?"

Athos nodded graciously and indicated the trader lead on. He would scrape together more than enough money by the time Athos was done.

"Peter, put this fine beast in the end stable, and put the others away." The trader spoke to the boy before waving Athos to his door.

Athos was pointed to a seat by the fire. He rubbed his hands before the flames, it seemed he only realised how cold he had been when he was in front of a fire.

"Will you have a drink with me, Monsieur...?"

"Armand, call me Armand." It seemed somehow amusing to use the cardinal's name. "And I will gladly have a glass of wine if you please."

"Eveline! Two glasses of our finest wine for me and my friend here!"

A worn looking woman stuck her head around the kitchen door and near enough grunted her assent.

While all of this was going on Athos was taking in his surroundings. There was an air of neglect to everything, but it seemed as if a sheen of polish had given the room a shining but false facade. Fabrics hung here and there, trying to give an air of opulence, but Athos knew them to be cheap. There was a bookshelf with hefty titled tomes, yet they looked untouched, there was hardly a crack on their spines. And all around were keepsakes, but only one or two looked of any worth. A sword stood on display above the hearth. It seemed to be well taken care of, but the overly elaborate hilt and etched blade said it was something more to be admired than used.

"Ah, you have noticed my sword. Isn't she a beauty? I have named her Heartstriker, for she strikes my heart with her beauty as she strikes the hearts of my enemies with her blade."

Athos gave a wry smile and a nod. He found those that named their swords and spoke about them so lyrically had little experience of the reality that they were simply tools for killing.

"She belonged to my father and my grandfather before him…"

The trader's story was interrupted by Eveline bringing in their wine. Athos took his with a gracious word of thanks.

"Oh Sacha, you do talk such rot. You brought that thing from a trader last month". She bustled out as quickly as she had bustled in, leaving Sacha near speechless.

Athos tried not to choke on his mouthful of wine.

"Yes… well… maybe she is thinking of my other sword. I have more than one you know. You never know when a spare might come in useful."

"Quite." Athos coughed and sipped at his wine a little more carefully. It wasn't the best wine he had sampled, but as he had been drinking from streams and the like of late it tasted as if it came from the best of the royal cellars.

"So, how did you come by such a fine horse my friend?"

Athos' mind raced to come up with a story. "He was a gift. I married well and the father of my wife gave him to me."

"My congratulations. You must have married very well indeed for him to give a horse of such quality away!"

"He has a stable full of such horses, in fact it is his business."

"And where would he happen to do such business?"

"A little place just outside Paris. You probably won't know it."

"Your father in law wouldn't be Rene would he? I know he trades near Paris and I have seen a few horses from his stud, they were mighty fine beasts indeed!"

"Yes, that's the man." If the trader was going to build his story for him, Athos would let him go ahead.

"Then you are lucky in your relations, you will never want for a good horse again. Did he bring you any news from Paris with this horse?"

"I can't say he did, he doesn't go into Paris often. The stud keeps him very busy, I'm sure you'll understand." Athos suddenly detected a strange change in their conversation.

"Ah yes, the horse business is very tiring and time consuming work. I just wondered at all these musketeers and red guard roaming the lands. I hear they're after wanted criminals, but we don't get to know much more than that. Anyway, did your wife help with the horses much? What did you say her name was?" Sacha was looking at Athos as if he were trying to work out a puzzle.

"I didn't… she's called Laure, and she is every bit as good as her father with the horses. As for the criminals, I know no more than you do."

"Well, at least we can be thankful that the roads are well guarded. I warrant the local bandits are having a hard time of it. As far as I'm concerned the criminals can stay." The trader gave a nervous laugh and eyed his sword. "So, down to business… If you will excuse me for one moment I will just check my funds."

The trader got up and made his way to the kitchen. He was only gone a few minutes before returning with a small chest, he set it down on a nearby table and took his seat, seeming strangely on edge. Did he suspect something? Surely not… but he had not been gone long enough to count his funds, unless he had so little there was nothing there to count. He had money. Athos was sure of it. The fine clothes and the expensive sword told of a man who liked to spend money on himself. The opulent facade of the room said he wanted to give a good impression, if not waste time or money on it… Why else would he have gone in the kitchen, if not to fetch his funds? It was a strange place to keep money, no doubt, but sometimes people liked to hide their riches. Now Athos felt he was working out the puzzle, and it was adding up to nothing good.

Athos picked up his empty glass. "Another?"

"Let me fill that for you." Sacha reached for the glass.

"Why not call your wife to do the honours?"

"She has… gone out."

"Alone, at this time of night?"

"She is very… independant. I will be just a moment" The trader snatched up their glasses and made for the kitchen once again.

Athos took the opportunity to go and open the chest. Inside he found a few spices. There was not a coin in sight. Something wasn't right here… a sense of danger suddenly flooded the air. Athos snatched up the sword from above the hearth.

When Sacha came back through the door Athos threw a handful of spices to the air. "What is this?!"

The trader set down their glasses and nervously swallowed. "Come sit my friend, we can talk about this…"

"You will talk, and explain yourself. Where has your wife gone?" Athos pointed the sword at Sacha's throat. It was not well balanced, but it was serviceable.

"I suspected… and she thought so too… you're one of them aren't you? The criminals?"

"Your wife, where is she?" Athos growled.

"You see, I know Rene, he's a good friend of mine. Though I haven't seen him in many years. He has a daughter, but she is named Sarah, and she was sent away for schooling at a young age, she knows nothing of horses." The trader's words came suddenly and fast with fear.

Athos bristled at the holes in his story. How had he fallen flat on his face so spectacularly? Still, he had the feeling Sacha was stalling for time. "Answer me, dammit! Where did your wife go?"

The words were reluctant and quiet. "To fetch the guard."

Between one breath and the next Athos rushed forwards to knock Sacha out with his pommel. He was at the door before the trader's body hit the floor. The musketeer walked in a hurry, he didn't want to attract attention by running, but he needed to get away. Just as he turned down a shadowed street a contingent of guards ran towards the house from a road opposite. They bore torches and baying hounds on chains. _Merde_… dogs! Athos wasted no time. He was out of sight and he ran.

The sound of shouting and barking seemed to echo through the streets all around Athos as he hared away. He felt like a rabbit being chased for game. The church spire came into view above the rooftops and Athos gave a quick prayer, hoping that Aramis was already back at the wall. He leapt the small fence around the churchyard and weaved around the snow covered graves. When his foot caught on a stray stone he nearly crashed to the ground before catching his balance again. His throat felt raw gasping at the cold air, but relief flooded through Athos - standing by the wall, there was Aramis!

"Run!" He shouted under his breath, careening towards the young musketeer.

Aramis shifted his full bag further up his shoulder. "What happened?"

"No time! Run!" Athos picked up his own bag and pushed Aramis towards the gap in the wall, hoping he would get the message.

Both of them slipped through the hole and set to running. Their tracks in the snow would be easily followed, even if dogs weren't on their trail. Athos headed for a wooded area up ahead, it would be easier to lose them amongst the trees. It would be easier, but it would not be _easy_. An eager barking rent the air behind and Athos lengthened his stride. He swept past Aramis, but did not go so fast as to lose his friend. Athos felt his feet grow wet and cold with every step, the snow was thicker out here, and his boots were worn. But he couldn't slow down. His chest was starting to burn, as was his side with this sudden exertion. Aramis must have been suffering with his sore ribs. Athos kept snatching glances over his shoulder, ensuring that the young musketeer was keeping up. Aramis' face was drawn, and his arm clutched at his chest, but he kept the pace well enough.

Just as they reached the tree line Athos shot a last glance over his shoulder. Against the snow covered ground he saw several dark shapes heading their way at speed. Behind them the light of numerous torches emerged from the wall. He ran between the trees, longing to yell some encouragement to Aramis, but his lungs were straining to keep him on his feet.

It was darker amidst the looming boughs, close growing branches had stopped too much snow reaching the ground. Though he was loath to start slowing down, Athos didn't want to risk falling over an unseen root. A distant howl penetrated the trees and all thought of slowing down flew from Athos' head. He kept charging onward, his limbs grew heavy and a sick feeling threatened, but he would run as long as his body could take it. He just feared that Aramis' wouldn't.

The crash seemed inevitable. Aramis hit the ground without making a single sound. His lungs were entirely occupied with dragging in breath after breath. He lay still in the dirt, chest heaving, not even making a move to get up.

Athos dropped to his knees beside the young musketeer. "Get up. You have to get up."

"Can't…" was all Aramis managed.

And Athos understood, he really did. Now he was on his knees his body was begging him to stay there. But dogs and men were coming. They had to move.

When a chorus of barking reached them a sudden spike of adrenaline lent Athos the strength to lift his friend. They staggered on, Athos pulling Aramis along. They managed a short intermittent jog. It wouldn't be enough to outrun the dogs, but perhaps they would find a hollow to hide in, or a stream to mask their scent.

They hadn't managed to find a thing before the sound of paws dashing along the ground reached them. The next thing Athos knew, something heavy collided with his back, sending both men crashing to the ground. A strong jaw clamped around Athos' arm, and everything exploded with pain.


	10. Chapter 10

**Note:** Quote is from Woodkid's "Iron" (if you haven't seen the video, watch it. It's effing awesome).

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><p><strong>Chapter Ten<strong>

_The steady burst of snow is burning my hands  
>I'm frozen to the bone, I am<br>A million miles from home, I'm walking away  
>I can't recall your eyes, your face<em>

Athos' arm felt as if it were on fire. He acted on instinct and punched the dog repeatedly in its face, but if anything it clamped down harder. Aramis was on his feet now, he aimed a hefty kick at the dog's side. It whined, and on the third blow it finally released Athos' arm. He clutched it tightly to his chest and scrambled across the the ground to their bags. He needed a weapon… The dog's attention was now on Aramis, it snapped its jaws and made to rip at him with sharp little claws. For his part Aramis was viciously kicking at the beast, desperately trying to keep his arms out of the way of its teeth. Just as the dog reared up and launched at Aramis with outstretched paws and slathering maw, Athos felt his fingers brush against his dagger.

Aramis cried out and fell back, but an agonised yelp rent the air. When the young musketeer hit the ground the dog landed on top of him, a dead weight, with Athos' dagger protruding from its thick neck. Aramis quickly pushed it away and drew the dagger out with a sickening wet sound… warm blood began to pool on the cold ground. They hardly had a chance to breathe before another two hounds attacked. Aramis made short work of his, as it leapt up he thrust forwards with the dagger, striking its throat. The dog whined weakly as it slipped away into death. Now without a weapon Athos reached out with his bare hands. He caught the dog by the throat and held back its straining, snapping jaws. Though he couldn't escape the claws tearing at his chest… Adrenaline and anger lent him the strength to squeeze the dog's neck. He imagined the cardinal between his hands, and his grip became enough to shatter bone. Feeling its breath being cut off, the dog writhed and tried to escape, but Athos was the one growling now. The dog was an innocent obeying its master, perhaps the same could be said of Treville who was chasing them down. But when you were attacked, you had to end the threat. As Athos squeezed the life from the ignorant creature between his hands, the urge to stand and fight took him. Perhaps when they next met Treville they should face fire with fire…

Finally, Athos felt the dog go limp, and he dropped its lifeless body to the ground. He scrubbed an arm across his sweat streaked face and turned to meet Aramis' awed gaze. The young musketeer was sitting on the hard ground, staring up as if he had just witnessed Hercules defeat the Nemean Lion. But Athos caught the sight of flickering torches through the trees, as ever there was no time to linger. He went to haul Aramis to his feet.

"Did you… did you just strangle a dog?" Aramis asked breathlessly.

"Yes… Well, as Porthos has demonstrated often enough - hands are perfectly adequate weapons."

A dark look seemed to pass over Aramis' face as they staggered away from the scene of carnage. Three dogs lay dead, two amidst growing pools of their own blood. Athos and Aramis themselves were covered in it, as well as their own. The adrenaline was beginning to ebb away, and Athos suddenly felt the pain of his arm and the tiredness of his limbs. But they were not out of danger yet. In the distance several voices called out for their dogs. Athos wanted to put a little more space between them before stopping.

"Your arm…" Aramis' whispered hoarsely in the darkness.

"Not now. We'll stop in a moment. Those men are still far too close."

The sound of a small stream running nearby was music to Athos' ears. If they followed it along they could wash their wounds when the men were left behind. As the two trudged on, dark spots started to dance before Athos' eyes, but he told himself it was just shadows amongst the trees. When his leg gave out and he dropped to one knee Aramis' hard voice crossed the darkness.

"That's it. We're stopping, this is far enough."

"No… not safe." Athos' tongue felt heavy in his head.

"We're even less safe with you bleeding out all over the forest floor…" Aramis' features could hardly be made out in the dark, or was it his sight failing?

Athos found himself being stripped of his shirt. He was propped against a tree trunk and his arm was being tightly wrapped a moment later. The sound of Aramis coughing reached his ears, he made a note to say something about that when his mouth worked properly. As it was, he was drifting away…

**~oOo~**

When he came to Athos found Aramis curled up against his side, shivering hard. It was cold, but he didn't seem to have enough energy to shiver. Delicately he put his uninjured arm around the young musketeer, but the action seemed to wake him. Aramis jerked from sleep suddenly, his eyes searched around before realisation seeped in.

Aramis cleared his throat and pushed himself upright. "How is your arm?"

It hurt, but there was nothing to be done about that. He would have to play Aramis at his own game, he didn't want his friend worrying.

"It's fine."

"I've cleaned and wrapped it, but it could really do with stitching." Aramis ran a tired hand through his hair and sighed.

"No matter, as long as it still works…" Athos wiggled his fingers and tried to keep from wincing. "... well, it _mostly _works."

Aramis gave a worn smile and went to retrieve some bits of food from their bag. Their bloodied shirts lay to one side, Athos noted they had some crisp, clean ones on, no doubt from Tilda. At least they hadn't been lost.

"And what about you?" Aramis looked at Athos' question in confusion. "Did you clean your own wounds?"

"Of course. I'm not foolish enough to let dog bites fester... but it's all quite superficial." Aramis' eyes dropped to Athos' arm. "Not like you."

"I'll be alright. It's just a flesh wound."

"A deep one." Aramis countered.

"I've had worse."

"And we've had actual medical supplies to deal with 'worse'. If this gets worse I won't be able to do anything…" Worry creased Aramis' features.

"Stop fretting, just let me rest a while and I'll be fine." Athos lay back against the tree, it wasn't comfortable, but he felt he could fall asleep on a bed of nails.

A faint smile pulled at the edge of Aramis' mouth. "Now you know how I feel, having you ask after me all the time."

"Well, I promise I'll worry less if you worry less."

"Deal." Aramis was quick to answer.

"Good, and now for the resting…"

Aramis' eyes slipped to one side, he stared fearfully at the trees. "We shouldn't stop too long. They might come back to search now it's light."

"Quite... I don't want to be another dog's dinner."

"Sleep, I'll wake you when it's time to go."

Athos gave in to the exhaustion that wracked his body. He was asleep moments after closing his eyes. But sleep gave no rest. Athos was chased around his dreams by barking dogs and the scent of forget me nots. Eventually he flinched awake when the bared teeth of a hound lunged towards his face. Shocked from sleep as he was Athos came to with his heart racing. He gulped down a few breaths and took in the quiet woodland scene. There were no dogs. No men… No _her_. Just Aramis. He sat some distance away, hugging his legs with his back to Athos. There was a slight shiver to his frame.

Athos cleared his throat. "Time to go…"

Aramis simply sat frozen on powdered ground.

"Aramis? We should move on."

He did not so much as twitch.

So Athos tried to get to his own feet. He winced as pain flared from the wound in his arm, and then he pressed his palm to the tree trunk, taking a moment to steady himself. Athos approached slowly, step by careful step. When he reached Aramis' side he found the young musketeer wasn't hugging his knees, his knees were drawn up, but his hands were tight around a pistol. Aramis stared into the trees, his eyes were vacant but intense, he seemed to be in another world.

"Aramis?"

Athos went to reach a hand out, but just as he did so Aramis suddenly came back to himself. He drew in a sharp breath and flinched back before making a move as if he were about to raise the pistol. Realising it was Athos he just managed to stop himself in time.

"Are you alright?" Athos asked.

Aramis gave a sigh of relief and rubbed at his eyes before blinking heavily. "Yes… just tired, that's all."

"Shall I take that?" Athos indicated the pistol.

Aramis looked as if he were about to object, but a fleeting moment of concern passed across his face and he gingerly held the gun out. Athos took it without a word. He had seen that look on Aramis' face before, it had been the first time they camped in snow after Savoy. The young musketeer had recovered his spirits once they returned to the garrison, but ever after he avoided overnight missions in the snow. A tendril of worry unfurled in Athos' heart. There was no nearby garrison out here. There would be no avoiding the night either.

"How is your arm?" Aramis interrupted Athos' thoughts with a weary voice.

"Holding up…"

"Let me have a look."

Athos offered his arm without an argument. He told himself he was setting a good example for Aramis, but it also provided his friend with a distraction.

"See how I submit to your ministrations without so much as a scowl?" Athos tried to make his tone light.

"Well, we can't all be such good patients." The corner of Aramis' mouth twitched into a smile as he probed Athos' wound. "It looks good. No sign of infection, not yet anyway. Are you alright to carry on?"

"I'm just waiting for you."

They helped each other up and gathered their bags. Not wanting to start a fire to burn their bloodied shirts, Aramis cast them into the stream. The water would carry their shirts away, and take the scent of blood with it.

Athos started out at a good pace, but he soon slowed down to a trudge. His cold and wet feet were most unpleasant, and exhaustion covered him like a blanket. Aramis had fished out a cloak to wrap around his shoulders. They had only one between them now, the other gifted to them by Tilda had been lost during their capture. Athos had tried to get Aramis to wear it for a little while, the young musketeer was trying to hide the fact he was coughing, but he refused and insisted Athos was more in need. Aramis had drawn ahead. He was not exactly forging a strong path, but his trudge was a little quicker. The young musketeer brandished Athos' sword in one hand, his own having been lost along with the cloak. He held it up, as if waiting to be set upon. Athos suspected he wasn't afraid of the men that had been pursuing them the night before. It was another attack he feared, one that had long passed into memory leaving scars in its wake.

"Well, we didn't make it very far to Spain." Athos took a stab at making small talk. It wasn't exactly his forte, but he needed to distract Aramis. Suddenly he missed Porthos. Porthos was never short of something to say. No doubt he would have been complaining incessantly about his wet feet. He would have been able to distract Aramis. He would have been able to ground the young musketeer, and keep him here.

For a moment Athos feared Aramis wouldn't reply, but then a tired voice drifted back. "We can still head south… Where else are we going to go?"

"I would settle for anywhere with a warm fire and good food. But south is as good a direction as any. Can you imagine the sun's warmth? I've almost forgotten what it is to be warm." The sun might have been shining, but it was a weak light that gave no warmth to the world. "To think we used to stand on guard in the blistering heat, desperate for a cool breeze."

"Summer seems a lifetime away." Aramis spoke so lifelessly, as if his heart wasn't in it.

"It will come again, it always does." Whether they would be alive to see it was another matter…

They walked on for what felt like hours. The trees were not thinning around them, surely the woods must give way at some point? Eventually Aramis stopped replying, and Athos stopped searching for words. They struggled on in silence, until Athos called for them to stop and rest. They took a moment to eat and check wounds. Athos managed to get the cloak around Aramis' shoulders for a while. He coughed into the back of his hand and made as if he were clearing his throat.

"We should keep moving. We need to get out of here by nightfall."

Athos raised an eyebrow. It would be better to spend the night under cover in the woods. For his part he had given up on breaking free of the trees and finding shelter in a village before nightfall. Did Aramis still hope? Or was he just desperately running from the ghosts of Savoy?

"I doubt we'll find shelter elsewhere before the sun goes down." Athos spoke evenly.

"We can try."

Aramis got up and helped Athos to his feet, the cloak was back around his shoulders moments later. And so they continued on.

Once again Aramis drew ahead, and Athos watched his friend with more than a little concern. He shivered slightly and held the sword as if it were his last candle against the dark. Every little sound had his head whipping around and the blade raised, ready to meet an attack. When the light started failing Aramis tried to speed up, but he couldn't keep the pace. The temperature dropped, and it seemed to slow him even more. And then he stopped to stare at the ground.

"What is it? Have you found something?"

Stiffly, Aramis bent and reached out to pick something up. Though Athos could see nothing in the light dusting of snow. Abruptly he shot back up and shook his head.

"Aramis?"

"Nothing… There's nothing." He wrapped his arms around himself and shuddered.

"I think we should stop. It will be pitch black before long, we can't go blundering about in the dark."

Aramis took a moment to look around at the trees as if they conspired against him, and Athos took the chance to throw the cloak around his shoulders. Aramis didn't object, which only served to worry Athos all the more.

"We can… go a bit further." Aramis' words were broken up by chattering teeth.

"No, we need to rest. I'm going to start a fire, we have just enough light to find some wood." Athos started casting his eyes about.

"You can't. They'll find us!" Aramis spoke with alarm.

"We need the warmth." Athos was being careful to say 'we' and not 'you', lest Aramis object all the more. In truth he feared the cold was beginning to affect Aramis, and combined with his Savoy anxiety it meant nothing good. "It's safe enough, there's nobody about this far in. We're more at risk from exposure than attack right now."

"I'll keep watch then." Aramis' grip tightened on the sword.

"No, you'll rest. I'll keep watch."

"I have to… If I sleep… They'll come..." In the dying light, with his eyes wide and expression lost, Aramis seemed so young.

"Do you trust me?" Athos let the soldier in him speak.

"To the very ends of the earth."

"Then rest. On my honour, I'll keep you safe." Athos squeezed his shoulder, and Aramis went quiet.

It was no easy job lighting a fire with the wood so damp. But Athos was determined, and eventually a small fire came to be crackling on the ground between them. Athos covered Aramis with the cloak and noted he was wheezing a little. Thankfully his breath seemed to ease as he drifted into sleep. Athos sat watching him across the fire, while gratefully soaking in its warmth. Aramis twitched and flinched, when he started tossing and turning Athos wondered whether to wake him. His face was creased with a frown and his sleep looked anything but peaceful. Eventually when he shot up with a cry Athos went over to him.

Aramis searched around in a panic, breathing heavily. Athos sat next to him and placed his hands on his friend's shoulders.

"They're dead… they're all dead…" Aramis' eyes were wide with alarm.

"There's nobody here but me Aramis."

For a moment the young musketeer looked at Athos as if he were trying to work out who he was. Then Aramis let out a long breath and seemed to relax slightly. "Athos…"

"That's right, now let's both try to get some sleep shall we?" Athos pulled a bit of the cloak over himself and settled down with Aramis. Hopefully with the warmth of a body next to him, Aramis would realise he wasn't sleeping with twenty dead men.

Suddenly Aramis' head shot up. "I have to watch."

"No you don't. We're safe." Athos tried to pull his friend back down, but he resisted.

"There'll be an ambush. Don't think that there won't. That's how it happened. We were safe before. The forest seemed so quiet, so peaceful, and then..." Aramis' words came out in a rush, all at once.

"This is different."

"How?"

"I'm here, and I've given you my word. You'll wake up, I won't settle for anything else." Athos tried to fix him with a steady eye in the flickering light.

This time Aramis let himself be pulled back down. Athos wrapped an arm around him. "You're safe…" he whispered before closing his eyes.

When next Athos woke it was morning. More snow had fallen during the night, it covered the cloak that was wrapped tightly around him... but it was wrapped around him alone. Athos looked up to find Aramis standing on the other side of the burnt out fire, staring at the trees. The young musketeer held a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, he was standing in nothing but his shirt.

"Aramis?"

How long had he been there like that?

Athos got to his feet and went to throw the cloak around Aramis' shoulders. Gently he pried the weapons from Aramis' grip. It seemed to bring him from his silent vigil.

"Are you ready to go?" Aramis looked dangerously pale.

Athos was on the verge of insisting they eat and rest first, but he could eat as they walked. He was suddenly as eager as Aramis to leave these woods behind.

They continued on as before - Aramis trudging ahead, Athos watching with worry behind. The young musketeer hadn't even wanted to look at Athos' arm. Though it stung with pain it seemed to remain free of infection - thank goodness for small mercies. But Aramis was always keen to see to other's hurts before himself. Now he was stumbling ahead in his eagerness to get out of the woods. Though Aramis moved slowly it was still done with an element of haste that saw his heavy footsteps betray him. Every now and then he would stagger to one side, just as a horse spooks at something unexpected. Aramis put a stray hand to his temple and seemed surprised to find nothing there when he drew it away. Then, as he trudged on, Aramis pushed the cloak away from his shoulders, letting it drop to the snow covered ground behind him.

Athos retrieved it as he passed by and made an effort to catch Aramis up. He tried to slip the cloak back around his friend's shoulders, but Aramis pushed his hands away.

"Marsac… leave it."

That had Athos frowning with concern.

"Aramis, you have to keep warm. Put it on." Though he was shivering himself in the cold, Aramis had exposed himself to it for longer. And this confusion was not a good sign.

"I'm warm enough, I said leave it." Aramis' voice was laced with an uncharacteristic hardness.

"Stop Aramis… Look at me." Thankfully he did as he was asked. "Where are you?"

Aramis frowned. "What do you mean? We're in Savoy... it's a training exercise, remember?"

"No, we're not." Athos tried to keep the panic from his voice. "That was many years ago. Who are you with?"

"It's me and you, and through there are the other twenty." Aramis pointed a hand to the trees. "We'll have to hurry or they'll start without us."

"There's nobody else here. It's just me and you… do you know my name?"

Aramis took a moment to answer as if he were unsure. "... Marsac."

"No Aramis. I'm_ Athos_, and we are far away from Savoy." Athos put the cloak around his shoulders and gripped them tightly. "You _must_ keep this on."

"But I'm warm… I'm too hot." Aramis made to pull the ties of his shirt undone, but his fingers were clumsy as they trembled.

Athos batted his hands away and went to rub vigorously at Aramis' arms. "It's the cold, it's fooling your mind. We have to get you warm."

Aramis pushed at Athos' arms and stepped away. "I'm already warm…"

"No, you're not, you're frozen." Athos followed him closely. "Come and sit down, I'll start a fire."

"We haven't got time, leave me alone Marsac…" Once again Aramis batted at Athos' outstretched arm and shied away.

But Athos wouldn't let him get far. He took a firmer grip on Aramis' arm. What was the best way to get him to comply? Play along with the delusion or try to wake him from it?

As it was Athos did not get a chance to try either approach. Aramis reacted suddenly and violently to the hard grip on his arm.

"Leave me alone!" Aramis tore his arm away and his hand became a fist.

Athos would have easily dodged the blow, were his reactions not slow through being tired and cold. As it was Aramis cracked him hard across the face and darkness descended.

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><p><strong>Note:<strong> After a comment by Boooyakasha I realise I've ended another chapter with Athos whump. That's three in a row now. I'm sorry, it just sort of... happens XD


	11. Chapter 11

**Note**: Quote is from "Landfill" by Daughter. There's a verse from John Updike in the text too.

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><p><strong>Chapter Eleven<strong>

_So leave me in the cold  
>Wait until the snow covers me up<br>So I cannot move  
>So I'm just embedded in the frost<em>

Aramis ran as fast as he could, shirking off the cloak and tearing open his shirt. He felt hot, in spite of the shivers, and his chest was tight. The cold air scorched the back of his throat. It was painful to take in, painful like everything else. Lightning seemed to strike down his limbs. His legs lost coordination, and he slowed to a stumbling pace once again.

Aramis just knew he had to get away, he had to reach the others. They were just ahead, just through those trees. All the way along he had been stalked by shadows. Faces seemed to hide behind trees, blending in with the snow dusted bark. Lost grey eyes watched his every move, peering from pale faces with shrunken skin. But when he looked again, they were gone. There was evidence they were there though. Aramis' feet caught on discarded weapons. Blades shining with blood. He couldn't touch them. He nearly bent to pick up a lost pauldron, it bore the fleur de lis, but it wasn't his, and as he walked along there were more. They scattered the ground, half buried in snow. Aramis knew if he counted there would be twenty, or would it be twenty one? Hollow eyes watched him wind around them. And then something wet trickled down the side of his face. Aramis put a hand to his head, but when he drew it away nothing stained his fingers… Still, the sensation of running blood lingered.

Aramis thought he felt a touch at his shoulder and he flinched at the burning sensation it brought. The forest was suffocating. There was no air between the trees. He staggered on a few more steps before startling to one side. The bleached bones of a skeletal hand reached from the ground towards him. After blinking furiously the bones melted away into the white branches of a fallen birch tree. Aramis rubbed at his eyes and took in a deep breath, only to cough it back out. He was warm, Marsac kept saying he was cold, but that wasn't right… he was too hot. Aramis stopped to wrestle out of his shirt. He discarded it and moved on. They would be late. Where was Marsac? Oh… he had told Marsac to leave him. No matter, he would make his own way there. The others were just through those trees.

Aramis burst out into a clearing to find it deserted. He whirled around in a panic. Where were they?! They had to be here! His eyes dropped to the ground, and then he found them… one by one, covered in a blanket of snow. The grey, hollow faces were here, sleeping eternally. Aramis dropped to his knees, held up only by the strength of his shaking arms, and he let out a sob. He had found his brothers. As he watched, blood seeped out across the white ground. Gaping wounds in rent flesh wept their blood away. Aramis flinched as a raven flew down, skimming his head with its inky, black feathers. It landed on Aubert, and delved its wicked beak deep into the man's ravaged throat. Before long another joined in, then another and another. Aramis couldn't find the strength to chase them away. They shrieked their awful cries and fluttered feathers against frozen skin. One landed in front of Aramis, it looked up at him with a shining, beady eye, as if trying to ascertain whether he was living or dead. Aramis felt his dull heart beat in his chest… it was slow. He counted each thud and there seemed a lifetime in between. And then he realised… the raven wasn't wondering. It was waiting.

Where was Marsac? He wasn't here, he had left. His pauldron lay discarded in the snow. Blood ran into Aramis' eyes. Marsac was supposed to be here, why would he go? Why would he leave them all dead and bleeding in the snow? Why didn't he help? _Marsac! _Aramis wasn't sure if he shouted or not. He felt so disjointed, he was a part of the world and yet stood apart from it. He could almost watch himself, bent over the cold ground, surrounded by such a grim scene. And then Aramis recalled telling Marsac to leave him alone. Suddenly regret washed through him. _Marsac! I'm sorry! Come back!_

More ravens gathered, they began to squawk and squabble with each other. But _that one_ watched, still and silent. Waiting for his last breath. Would it tire? Should he try the patience of a raven? Maybe it would move in for a taste of the living while all around ate from the dead. But Aramis didn't feel like living. Every moment that passed dragged him down, each breath was harder to pull in than the one before. Eventually Aramis' arms gave out and his face crashed down into the snow. The raven hopped closer, examining his eyes. Aramis blinked, and tears began to run, blurring the black feathers that filled his vision. He felt others land on top of him. Sharp little claws needled his skin before they drove their hard beaks into his side. Still, that one watched and waited. Aramis gave a final, slow, exhale and it moved forwards with a shriek.

He was joining them at last. He would have his own blanket of snow. Twenty two pauldrons would now lie embedded in frost.

**~oOo~**

A distant crackling sound enticed Aramis to wakefulness. He stirred to find himself beneath a cloak, with his shirt on, and a warm body pressed against his own. His mind seemed a swirl of mist for a moment, until everything settled into place. Between one blink and the next a face filled his vision.

"Do you know who I am?"

"Athos…" He managed to bite out between chattering teeth.

Athos exhaled a relieved breath and lay back. "Thank God."

"What… happened?" His limbs ached viciously as warmth seeped back into them.

"You knocked me out, I came to and followed your trail to find you curled up, half dressed, and distraught in the snow. It's alright, it's just the cold. You'll be fine once you're warmed up."

Aramis shifted so he was facing Athos. A bruise stood out darkly on his pale face. The young musketeer reached out to brush his frozen fingers across it. "I'm sorry…"

"You weren't yourself."

"Still… I hit you."

"You thought I was Marsac. Now if anyone deserves hitting, it's him."

Aramis frowned, thinking back to the moment he detached from reality. "It was so real Athos… I could see them, watching from the trees, and then there was Marsac. He left me… I told him to go."

Aramis' eyes slid away, but they were drawn back to Athos when he put a hand to his friend's arm.

"The real Marsac left you. It was me you were telling to go, but I'm not him, I'm not going to leave you. I can promise you that."

Aramis gave a shaky smile. "Don't make promises you can't keep."

"Well, I can promise you I will never leave by my own choice, will that be enough?"

"That will do." They would be together if they had a choice in the matter. But Aramis knew all too well that choice often didn't come in to it. "Besides, maybe we'll end up dying together out here…"

That grim thought seemed to blossom in Aramis' mind, giving rise to a haunted expression. "Athos, what if we never get out? What if we die beneath these trees? We might lie here, and never be found."

"We're getting out." Athos' hard voice left it at that, and Aramis tried not to imagine them lying frozen and forgotten in the snow.

Aramis was loath to leave the comforting warmth of the fire, but they had to move on. They ate a little and he looked over Athos' wound, which thankfully seemed to be healing well without infection. And then they had to make a move. Though the fire was enticing, Aramis was eager to leave the woods behind.

Away from the fire the cold began to savagely bite at them again. They took turns with the cloak, but Aramis suspected Athos was leaving him with it a bit longer each time. Every now and then Athos would ask a quiet question - Who am I? - or - Where are you? - and normally Aramis would scoff at having to answer. He would have made fun of Athos, telling him he was the Queen of Spain, and that they were trudging through the Sahara. But now he merely whispered the truth… _you are Athos_, _we are not in Savoy_. Aramis didn't know exactly where they were - a wood that seemed as endless as hell itself - but he knew it wasn't Savoy, and that was good enough.

Still, as they forged their way through the trees Aramis thought he saw dead bodies concealed by snow. It fleetingly crossed his mind that maybe he should lie down to join them. But a closer look revealed the bodies to be nothing more than forest debris. Fallen tree trunks and branches lay in a masquerade of rigid limbs. No matter how much he kept reminding himself this was not Savoy, his mind seemed determined to drag him back there. Aramis came to realise that it would always be with him. It was always there, lurking deep down in his heart. The snow touched trees just brought it a little closer to the surface, where others might see. He would never be rid of this darkness. Would it follow him to the end of his days? Would he lie on his death bed as an old man, watching a raven watch him? He probably wouldn't make it to old age, but it would always be waiting. There were twenty two graves for the men of Savoy. Aramis stood on the edge, looking down into the darkness that waited to claim the last one.

Aramis sometimes felt like he wasn't living. He was just trying the patience of ravens.

**~oOo~**

When finally the trees thinned and the two musketeers emerged into a field Aramis felt like he could breathe again. The oppressive atmosphere fell away and a weight seemed to lift from his shoulders. He looked back at Athos to find a small smile gracing the man's lips. For Athos that was about the equivalent of rolling around in the snow with glee. Aramis was tempted, but his cold, aching limbs wouldn't be too happy with him afterwards. The young musketeer took in a deep, relieved breath, only for it to catch in his throat and cough back out. He shot a furtive glance back at Athos to find the smile had died and a worried look had taken its place.

Aramis was relieved when Athos said nothing. Still, he felt that wouldn't last long. He turned his eyes forwards. A great expanse of glistening white stood at their feet. The sun hung low in the sky, it felt far away and fragile. Suddenly it brought to mind a verse Aramis had come across once long ago.

"The days are short, the sun a spark, hung thin between the dark and dark…" He spoke with a sombre tone.

Aramis missed reading poetry. He especially missed sitting by a fair maiden's bed reading poetry to her while they were both in a state of undress. In fact, reading to a lady had inadvertently led to him joining the musketeers. Although his subject matter back then had been a little more religious.

"It almost seems a shame to ruin the scene with our footsteps." Athos' voice broke into his thoughts.

"I never realised you were so sentimental about scenes of beauty." Aramis managed a sly smile.

"Well, I see them so rarely with you around."

"Touché my friend, shall we?" Aramis held a hand out to indicate the blanket of white before them.

The two musketeers began trudging once again, although their spirits seemed a little higher for being out of the woods. They stopped to eat a little, sharing the rations out sparingly. It was only enough to fend off their hunger for a short while. Hunger was something they had learned to live with, only when it became ravaging was the urge to eat too much. They had lost weight, and tiredness was a constant companion. Aramis often wished he could simply eat the grass like their horses had, but even the grass was short and lacking beneath the snow now. As they ploughed on the musketeers began to stumble and struggle. When one went down to their knees the other helped him up. It was done wordlessly, that was until Aramis went down and gave a raucous cough against his sleeve.

"You're coughing." Athos said pointedly as he offered a hand to Aramis.

Aramis would have commented on how astute Athos' powers of observation were, but he simply didn't have the energy to engage in such frivolity. "I'm alright… I'm not sick, if that's what you're thinking."

Not yet anyway. His chest felt tight, and his ribs were all but healed, but they ached terribly in the cold. Breathing was becoming an arduous task once again. Sickness felt like it was lingering at his shoulder, just waiting to take hold. With the lack of food and exertion it only seemed a matter of time.

"You would tell me if you were?" Athos' question was quiet. His voice seemed to have diminished with the rest of his body.

"Athos… you're suffering as much as I am." The man seemed blind to his own state of being. They were both as bad as each other.

"That's not an answer to my question."

"Didn't you promise not to worry?"

"I promised to worry less, not to stop worrying altogether." Athos noted wryly.

"Then… I will tell you." Aramis admitted reluctantly. "I'm alright for now, I can carry on."

"If you say so."

Eventually they came across a field surrounded by a small stone wall. It indicated they were moving on to land that somebody owned, and fields that were most likely worked by farmers. There would be people nearby, and that meant food and horses. Sure enough they spotted a village lying nestled in a distant valley. Athos suggested they wait until nightfall before approaching. Under cover of darkness it would be easier to get supplies and horses without being spotted. Something still seemed to bristle in Athos at the thought of stealing. When Aramis pointed out they would have to steal the horses he huffed about it a little and explained he simply didn't like taking from people who had worked hard for what they had and weren't much better off themselves. It was not honourable to take from those in need. But needs must. They had to steal or they would die, it was that simple.

When the sun went down the temperature dropped, and vicious shivering set in once again. They decided to stick together rather than split up, as it would be safer. The two musketeers approached the village and passed by several houses. Although the dwellings were all in darkness they walked slowly and carefully, taking to cover when it was available. Athos had noticed a man patrolling with a torch. If he were to raise the alarm it would all be over. Aramis wondered if they should preemptively tackle him, but Athos did not want to risk causing a commotion. Stealth was their friend right now.

So they crept along, making their way to the village square, where there were a couple of shops. The two musketeers crouched down behind some barrels, watching and waiting. Aramis was about to break cover and go to the door when Athos pulled him back suddenly. The flicker of a torch along the wall of a building across the square told of the watchman's approach. He waited at the corner, huffing and looking about impatiently.

"Sebastien! Where on earth have you been?"

A young lad ran up to the man, he was out of breath and very apologetic.

"I'm sorry, I was… I had to…"

"Don't tell me… Amelie right? Not that I can blame you…" He passed the torch to Sebastien. "A night between her legs is better than a night walking these streets any day."

"All's quiet then?"

"As the grave. I don't know why we have to keep doing this, those musketeers would be mad to come here now, but if the Cardinal's men tell you to do something, you do it... Goodnight Sebastien."

"Night Remi."

The young lad started his patrol as the other left.

Aramis spoke under his breath. "What did he mean - 'those musketeers would be mad to come here now'? Are the Cardinal's men still about?"

"I don't know. There's no sign of them. I suspect they've got the villagers keeping watch, so they don't have to. In any case, let's get what we came for and get out."

With the way clear Athos approached the shop door, it was locked as expected. So he stepped back and gave it a hefty kick. The door was not heavily constructed, but Athos didn't have much strength to put in to it… not any more. Aramis joined in with a blow or two, and finally it gave way. Aramis shut the door behind him and crouched down to keep watch while Athos went about filling their bag. Sebastien passed by once, and his attention was taken more by the stars than their break in. He would not present much of a problem.

That deed being done they left to find a couple of horses. Athos had spotted an inn with stables near the main road into the village. Hopefully there would be at least two patrons with riding horses. When they crept towards the stables it looked as if there were more than two patrons. In fact, an ass and a horse were tethered outside, there seemed to be no room for them within. Aramis took a quick glance around and then dashed over to the horse. A cursory examination revealed it was missing a shoe. It would turn up lame in short order with hard riding. They would have to take another, and so Athos led the way inside.

There wasn't a great number of stables, but all were occupied. The soft huffs of breath from each animal and their gentle movements in the straw gave a sense of serenity to the scene. Warmth rolled off the horses, heating the little building nicely despite the cold. Aramis could imagine lying down in the straw and falling asleep quite easily. He found a grey horse he liked the look of, there was a chestnut that was a bit on the small side and another older grey with a sway back. Athos was busy looking over the rest, no doubt he wanted the best the stable had to offer, but having found one Aramis set about tacking up. Luckily the horse's saddle was near to hand, slung over the barrier between stables. Aramis heaved it on and praised the horse as he opened his mouth for the bit. He was just about to lead the grey out of the stable when Athos called.

"Aramis, will you come here a moment?"

Aramis made his way to Athos, who was standing by a black horse, bridle in hand. It was a fine beast, nearly as good as Henri had been.

"You've picked well my friend, what's the matter?"

Athos looked slightly spooked. "Does it seem familiar to you?"

He had seen plenty of black horses over the years, especially in the musketeers. For some reason the regiment seemed to have a fondness for them. Well, they were easier to keep clean for one thing. The last grey Aramis had spent half of its life nearly black.

"No, should it?"

Athos stepped forwards then, he gently pulled the horse's head around and swept it's forelock aside. "I went to put the bridle on when I saw this…"

And suddenly it fell into place.

The horse had a faint star, just off to the right. It was distinctive enough for them to recognise it.

Aramis' mouth went dry, but he managed to whisper one word. "Hawthorn…"

Hawthorn was Treville's horse.


End file.
